For the Sake of Grades
by FrankieSunflower
Summary: 6th Year novella-rewrite. The aftermath of Draco choosing to do the right thing. It effects Harry's life too, in a way no-one expected. Drarry, eventual Bleville.
1. For the Sake of Grades

_FOR THE SAKE OF GRADES_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters or settings used in the following story, nor am I making any money from their use.

**Pairing**: Drarry.

_Set midway through sixth year. Instead of following through with his task, Draco has gone to Dumbledore and confessed, and the planned attack on Hogwarts goes arse-up before it even begins. Plenty of details have been left out of the story – focus is on the development of the relationship between Harry and Draco mostly. Snape is still potions teacher- pretend Slughorn doesn't exist. Likewise, the Unbreakable Vow scene either didn't happen or has been changed, because Snape does not have to kill Dumbledore in Malfoy's place._

'Put it whatever way you want,' Harry grumbled, tugging his school tie as they walked along the corridor, purely to keep his hands busy. 'I'm not apologizing.'

'Yeah,' Ron interjected supportively. 'After all, it's Malfoy. When has he ever apologized for all the stuff he's done?'

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her hair out of her face as they stopped outside the classroom, earlier than the other students, to wait for McGonagall. 'So let me get this straight. Your main argument is that if Draco Malfoy does it, it's okay?'

'No,' Ron refuted quickly, 'I just don't think he deserves an apology.' Harry left the argument to Ron and Hermione, getting out the first book he touched from his bag and pretending to busy himself with it. The effect wasn't very successful. It was a Herbology textbook, and he wasn't Neville.

Yes, he had to admit, Malfoy had been less of a pain in the arse since he surrendered his personal involvement with the Death Eaters, not to mention given the names of several and aided in the imprisonment of others, a contribution which had crippled a planned attack on Hogwarts and left students to spend (at least their sixth) year in peace. He had also earned thorough defamation within his own house and borne it, so far, with dignity. He was no less cold but had yet to return to his old openly hateful ways, however Harry and Ron were counting the days and were nowhere near as convinced as Hermione that their long-standing enemy had turned over a new leaf.

Harry himself had gotten into a brief fight with Malfoy just the other day, and shouted the boy down using, admittedly, personal information that was known to give Malfoy shudders. Malfoy's change had not been driven by a conscience. It had been made public that Lucius Malfoy had forced his son to join the Death Eaters ... among other things. Draco, seeking a way to please his father, had complied until one day, he was asked to kill Dumbledore and personally deliver Harry to Voldemort. This had been too much apparently, and he had faced his fear and gone to his assigned target, the Headmaster, with all the information he had.

The argument had begun with snide comments which were low-key by Malfoy's original standards. Harry, having had a dreadful day and not in the mood to tolerate, had flared up. Malfoy made it evident that he expected some respect for what he had gone through, but Harry would have none of it and said some things which he slightly regretted even as Malfoy was walking away. He remembered the expression on his rival's face as he was pressing how much of a lapdog he had been. It wasn't one Harry was familiar with. It looked blank for a while, until he realized that it was shock. It was clear that Malfoy didn't want Harry to be saying what he was saying._ You're pathetic_. He had even sort of enjoyed watching Malfoy's facade crumble a little, glimpsing a brief shine of tearfulness in those grey-blue, cloudy eyes before they blinked and he turned away, not waiting for Harry to finish his sentence. _That's right. Run. It's what you've always done. It's the only thing you're good at. Just run away._

'You can't expect him to become a completely different person in the space of a couple of weeks, Ron,' Hermione chided loudly, bringing Harry out of his reverie. 'Of course he's still going to be haughty and a bit rude, but even you have to admit that he's not anywhere near as awful as he used to be.'

Ron snorted, but said no more, except for "speak of the devil" as Malfoy rounded the corner, steering physically clear of the other Slytherins who were arriving about the same time as him. They shot him dirty looks as they passed, but he strode on with his nose in the air, showing no other signs of having noticed them. He didn't shoot Harry or his friends the vaguest of glances.

Three by three or more, the rest of the students arrived, and McGonagall with the rest of them. There were fewer tables than usual, thanks to other classrooms being in need of spares, so all seats were taken. The only other bearable students had picked seats unfortunately close to the Slytherins and Harry, Ron and Hermione were left with one empty space. Parvati looked up hopefully from where she was currently trapped, but just as Harry was about to beckon her over, the hope left her face and a shadow crossed over his own. He looked up to see Malfoy casting one last look at the full back table before glancing down at the vacant spot to Harry's right.

Ron moodily allowed Harry to shift over as Malfoy dropped himself into the seat. The air was tangibly stiff with discomfort, and not a word was said for the first ten minutes as the Professor began teaching, Harry and Hermione trying to avoid the fleeting sneers and glares Ron and Malfoy were shooting each other. Harry got a strong sense of being bluntly ignored, and it made him feel strangely left out.

McGonagall placed four jars with a live fairy inside each one on the corner of each table. Being on the end, the unwelcome guest of the group was left with the option of either passing them along or leaving everyone to lean over to get one for themselves. This was a silent test. Harry swore he saw McGonagall watching them out of the corner of her eye. The Head of Gryffindor house had undeniably taken an interest, like everyone else, in Malfoy's change of heart.

Hermione, fortified by her argument with Ron and firm in her belief that she wasn't going to be called a mudblood by the new-and-improved Slytherin, boldly piped up;

'Malfoy, could you pass down the jars?'

Ron was already fingering the hilt of his wand whereas Harry was just interested in seeing what he'd do. Malfoy looked at Hermione. Then at the jars. Then, to Harry's surprise (and what looked like Ron's disappointment), he skidded two jars across the surface of the table in their direction. The other two were close enough where they were, so Harry reached over to take his, his wrist momentarily brushing Malfoy's chest. He felt muscle tighten and had to stop himself from looking at the face belonging to the body. Their fingers almost touched as Malfoy went for his own jar and Harry could see the pale, slender hand trembling before it vanished back inside the sleeve, only the fingers allowed to show.

McGonagall attempted to teach the class how to transfigure the live fairies into small pictures of themselves. Hermione cinched it early in the half-hour. Ron's became a glittery, winged card with a scowling face, which was at least better than he'd hoped for. Harry's did nothing, then unexpectedly exploded to twice its original size. Malfoy smirked, but said nothing.

'Go on then,' Harry grumbled. 'Let's see you try.'

Malfoy didn't do much better, but at least it was interesting for the rest of the class seeing them try to outdo each other.

Due to their competition, both boys turned out putting in more effort and doing well. Harry managed to get the size and shape right, though the picture was not of the fairy but of a cow. Malfoy somehow managed to make his near perfect except for the fingers and toes sticking out of the corners.

By the time the class ended, McGonagall already had it in her head that the best way to keep them progressing at that rate was to seat them together every single class until the holidays. _Every._ Single. Class. Which she did.

It was constantly tense, but Harry had to admit that he was getting better, even if it was because of his rival. It appeared to be doing Malfoy some good, too. Where he had failed almost every Transfiguration class before, his desire to show up Harry was driving Malfoy to do some real work. It made Harry almost proud to know that even though the jerk had no desire to look smart or know anything of real use, he felt an inexplicable need to do better than him.

'Maybe he's trying to impress you,' Ginny speculated one day, as Ron napped on an armchair and Harry did his homework. 'What makes you figure that?' Harry asked, looking up suddenly, mind drawn far away from Potions at the mention of Malfoy's name.

'Well, he doesn't seem to hate you anymore,' Ginny went on. 'He sort of looks annoyed when he hears people bagging you out. He jinxed Zabini under the table the other day for impersonating Hermione.'

'I don't believe you,' Harry said bluntly, going back to his homework. Hermione looked up from her chair.

'He has been scarily polite to me lately,' she said, supporting Ginny's argument automatically. Harry glanced up at her. 'He even said "please" when he asked me to lend him a valerian root. He looked a bit stiff, mind you,' she added.

'He is different now he knows his money and name won't impress anyone,' Ginny advocated. 'He's still a spoiled brat thanks to his mum, but not as nasty. He's kind of harmless now,' she continued vaguely, 'like a bully with two broken arms.'

Harry said nothing, but went back to his homework again. Yes, he had to grudgingly admit. Draco was not the cruel, irritating prat he used to be. But the natural agitation he felt towards him in Transfiguration certainly helped something, so he wasn't going to forgive Malfoy just yet.


	2. The Difference

A month after McGonagall had forced Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to work closer together every single lesson, the other teachers finally took notice and, much to the boy's chagrins, followed her example.

Even Snape took pleasure in using any and every tactic necessary to get the two to sit and work together, though Harry suspected he was just getting creative with his torture methods. Snape still drew attention to Draco's _cough_imaginary_cough_ talent, but seating them together made it a convenience to point out Malfoy's superior potions-handling in comparison to Harry's poor skill. Harry did not think the tactic would work in getting either student to work harder, as he had no desire to impress Snape. He knew if he created a perfect Felix Felicis, Snape would still prefer praise a failed Drought of Living Death by his favourite pupil. Harry just wanted to do better than Malfoy, and for Malfoy to see it.

Hermione was still uninterested in joining in Harry and Ron's favourite conversation topic, and neither of them let her forget it.

'Don't tell me you fancy him,' Ron spat as they headed down for breakfast. The argument was becoming heated and Ron was already secretly (obviously) afraid that Hermione would pick Malfoy over him, something that Harry knew wouldn't happen and wished Ron would believe when he said so.

'Of course not, he's not my type,' Hermione retorted, spinning on her heel to face Ron, accusatory glare fixed in place. 'Maybe if you spent less time worrying who I go out with, you'd be able to see _at least_ why I don't hate him anymore,' she growled, and stormed off on her own.

Harry knew it wasn't quite fair, but he felt a pang of irritation at Malfoy for making his friends fight like this. Malfoy wasn't to know; apparently he was still being uncharacteristically polite, and any trace of sarcasm had yet to be found. Harry knew he ought to be happy for that. The warfare between them had only quietened, not dulled, so Harry supposed that meant he was still allowed to hate him. One thing all had failed to consider, out of habit, was Draco Malfoy's feelings. Harry had noticed little things here and there; the trembling hand during that first Transfigurations lesson, glances, a furrowed brow or a quickly concealed glance. The way sometimes the blonde boy refused to look at or speak to him altogether, while still clearly trying to outdo him. He did not think much of any of it at first. But now the moments were adding up. He was either avoiding catching Harry's eye or he was sneaking looks at him when he thought Harry wasn't watching him too. It all seemed a little suspicious.

Hermione sat with Ginny at breakfast, and she and Ron glared at each other intermittently. Harry blatantly ignored the glares and scarfed down eggs and bacon. Purely out of curiosity, and because he was facing that way, he let his eyes trace the line of Slytherins, all looking self-righteous in their own way. All except for one, who sat at the very end of the table, warding off the occasional flying sausage with a flick of his wand.

He had no intention of admitting it to himself, but Harry could recognise dignity when he saw it. It had been unnoticeable in the beginning, simply because there had been so much to think about then, but when he thought back to how temperate and attitude-ridden Draco had been before, it was easy to appreciate the patience with which he received the petty tokens of bullying. He had a book open on the table and was flicking through it with his left hand, wand in his right hand ready to fight off projectiles. Harry had to remind himself after five minutes of solid staring that Malfoy was not redeemed in his eyes. No. He was not. Absolutely not. At all.

Charms class resulted in a near-perfect result from both students. To Harry's glee, he got it right three tries before Malfoy did, and his rival was all the more unsettled by it. As they both turned to leave, Malfoy subtly nudged Harry under the table to get his attention, then leaned in close to breathe something in his ear.

Harry hadn't expected the shivers that ran up his spine, or the way his toes curled as a warm breath washed over his neck. It took him a moment to register what Malfoy had said.

'You won't be so lucky next time, Potter.'

The sound of his name, whispered by a smooth-as-chocolate voice gave him goosebumps. He told himself it was disgust.

Lying on his back that night, Harry could not avoid thinking about it. Truthfully, he had never reacted that way to the brat before, but to be fair he had never been up so close to him either. He was a boy, for pete's sake. What was it that that muggle said? Billy whatsit? "A penis can't tell the difference between a woman and a bus."

It was just that. There was no reason for him to obsess. Hell, if Ron got into his bed and snuggled up to him and he got excited, it wouldn't mean he fancied him.

Meanwhile, in his own bed, Malfoy was being a lot more honest with himself. Or, he would be, if he hadn't been distracted by a flaming torch thrown suddenly onto his suspiciously flammable sheets.

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Ooh! Cliffhanger!


	3. Rescue from the Fire

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry to those who have been watching this story, about how very, very long it's been since I wrote anything. I've been suffering colossal writer's block for months now, but fighting it diligently. Forgive me!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

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Harry woke to a faint commotion and a strong feeling of something being wrong at 2 in the morning. He staggered groggily out the door of the boy's dormitories still in his pyjamas, listening intently. His scar did not hurt, but by now it had become natural to seek out any hint of his rival whenever chaos took hold somewhere in the school.

Instead, he came across a mixed reaction of dark ironic amusement and terror. Someone had lit a fire in the Slytherin boy's dorms and it had spread uncontrollably. McGonagall was trying to calm the storm of rumours and shouting already taking over the growing portion of awake and excited Gryffindors.

Harry's mind flew right to Draco Malfoy. He knew, somehow, without a shadow of a doubt, why that fire had been lit. He also knew that it hadn't been Malfoy. And at that moment, he decided that no, he didn't utterly loath Malfoy, and no, he couldn't think of a real reason to suspect him of foul play. He didn't like him as a person for sure, but then again, who did?

Harry dashed back to his trunk, making sure he wasn't watched or followed, and found his invisibility cloak. He ducked out of the common room and out into the cold corridor, running unseen past Peeves and countless paintings, all the while thinking frantically about what to do. He had his wand. Surely someone had put out the fire by now? Why was he even out here? It wasn't his business. Still ...

He finally reached the dungeons, and passed the Bloody Baron and a number of teachers who were trying to quell the flames. They were failing. It was as though with each attempt, the fire grew, devouring the stones and eroding them down, beating back those trying to stop them.

A number of students were being rounded up by Snape, who was taking a quick roll call. Harry sped past him, determined to find a way in, but he paused quickly to hear. He looked from one frightened, ashy face to the next, growing more and more uneasy as he realized that Malfoy was most definitely not among them.

Snape realized too. In half a second he had organized Flitwick to keep an eye on his students and was back at the fire, and Harry had to dodge so as not to trip him up.

Noticing a gap in the flames, Harry bypassed the internal debate altogether and ran into the Slytherin common room past the open portrait hole, past the couches and arm chairs, and up a short flight of steps toward what he hoped was the boy's dorm. _Surely he'd have had the sense to try and leave?_ Harry thought to himself, the invisibility cloak shielding him somewhat from the rising smoke. He fought his way into the dorm, ripping off his cloak and bundling it up under his arm so a stray edge wouldn't catch on fire.

'Malfoy?' he called out, covering his mouth and nose with his hand as best he could to avoid choking. A black and green canopy fell onto a bed behind him, and a cry quickly followed. Harry spun around, and using his wand, sent the blazing mess of cloth and wood hurtling across the room. Malfoy was pinned to his bed, right hand tied to one of the bed posts, trying in vain to untie it with his fingers, clawing desperately for his wand at the same time, choking violently on smoke and ash.

Grey eyes met green and there was scarcely time for confusion. Harry pointed his wand at the knot and it was undone in seconds. Malfoy scrabbled for his wand, grabbed it, and stumbled after Harry as they rushed to get out.

Moments before they reached the portrait hole, Harry threw the cloak over himself and haphazardly kicked a falling Malfoy the rest of the way out of the Slytherin common room, and just in time. Fire belched out of the portrait hole, and a teacher grabbed Malfoy, and the heat and the fire subsided and Harry stood back, hidden by his cloak, and watched as Draco Malfoy sank to his knees with tears streaming down his sooty face, fancy silk pyjamas burned and torn. Snape tried to pull him back to his feet by his arm, but the boy refused to budge. He sobbed, the fear and outrage and frustration finally showing, dignity forgotten somewhere in the burning atmosphere. And somewhere in the crowd, a perpetrator made the grave and obvious mistake of whispering to his friend,

'How did he get out?'

Snape spun around, yanking Malfoy to his feet, smouldering, quietly furious eyes immediately seeking out the speaker. 'Presumably the intention was for him to stay in, at least until it was too late?'

A morbid silence followed. Snape's eyes narrowed by less than a millimetre.

'Zabini, Parkinson, Indigo and Bullstrode, I will see you in my office early tomorrow morning. For the time being, the rest of you will spend the remainder of the night under the care of the head of Ravenclaw.'

He didn't need to say anything else, but a subtle aura of irritation and distaste rippled through the crowd of Slytherins. They dispersed, barely daring to tease Malfoy even as he all but leaned himself on Snape, tears still running down his cheeks. He refused to look at anyone.

When Snape, Draco and the invisible Harry were the only ones left in the corridor, Snape leaned Malfoy up against a wall and crossed his arms.

'You weren't alone.'

Malfoy didn't reply.

'Someone bound you by magic, intending for you not to escape, instead to perish in the flames. Someone who was willing to go that far surely wouldn't have been careless enough to allow you any chance of freeing yourself.'

Malfoy still said nothing.

'Your rescuer wasn't a Slytherin, I take it.'

Malfoy shook his head, then drew his hand up to his face to wipe away the ash and tears. It took a while, and he had to use his tattered pyjama shirt, but when he was done there was only a grey tinge to his skin and a smear on his cheek.

'I think I was hallucinating ... no-one left the room after me, did they?'

'So it was Potter.'

Harry balked. How would Snape know it was him? Did he put the cloak on too late? But he watched carefully, intrigued, as Malfoy turned away shamefacedly. 'Don't use that against me. I was panicked, the room was full of smoke. I couldn't count on anything I saw being real.' He was spitting out the words as though they were ash left in his mouth.

'Mr Potter has ways of getting himself into these kinds of situations. All we can gather from this is that someone lit the fire, that Potter was present, and that he clearly did not want anyone to know he had been there.'

Malfoy's eyes widened, then narrowed. 'Why would he try to kill me, and then save me at the last minute?'

Harry wasn't sure of what to think at this. On one hand he wanted to give Snape a good hard kick in the shins, and on the other, he was too surprised by the fact that Malfoy was, it seemed, defending him.

'Anyway, he let _me_ see him,' Malfoy continued, and seemed about to say more when Snape cut him off.

'We cannot know his intentions, only guess them. It is well-known that he has a powerful dislike of you,' as Snape said this, Harry tried not to over-interpret the flinch and barely concealed discomfort in Malfoy's face, 'and who is to say that that he didn't change his mind at the last minute? Or that he didn't want to mess with your head?'

'_I'm_ to say,' Malfoy growled. Harry could barely believe what he was hearing ... or feeling. 'He's far too bloody noble. If the thought of trying to roast me alive ever so much as crossed his mind he'd probably entertain the notion for five minutes, and then forget about it.'

'Do not presume to think you know him. You're getting carried away by your feelings, Draco, and it will be the end of you,' Snape snapped. 'It almost was.'

Malfoy paused. 'They didn't try to _end_ me because of ... they don't know about that, do they?' he asked, and to Harry's ears it almost sounded like he was pleading. Snape said nothing for a long time. Harry tried to imagine what exactly it was they were talking about. A strong hint of what it may be hovered in his mind, but surely it was impossible.

'You did not leave the Dark Lord's side because you were too _good_, Draco,' Snape said finally. Harry strained his ears. 'You did it because you were in love.'

Malfoy said nothing, but he was again refusing to meet Snape's eyes.

'Does that mean that, when you finally come to your senses and realize that no matter what you do, he will never accept or even _like_ you, you will return to the Dark Lord? Are your loyalties reliant on your head, or on your heart?'

Malfoy still said nothing. Harry was surprised they couldn't hear his heart pounding or his breathing. The corridor seemed so quiet after those words.

'Like I said, I don't even know if he was there for sure,' Malfoy mumbled, head lowered so much that his chin was tucked into his chest like a five-year-old and he was speaking to the floor. 'I could have just gotten lucky and escaped by myself. I was probably seeing things.'

Snape's expression was unreadable. Harry's head was so full it could burst, and at the same time he felt like everything in there concerning Malfoy had been totally evicted. How long had this been going on? This couldn't mean that Malfoy loved _him_, did it?

'You will be sleeping in my office on the couch. It would be best to keep you away from the other Slytherins tonight,' Snape said, now totally devoid of all emotion. Malfoy nodded, looking relieved that the conversation was totally over, and started plodding in the direction of Snape's office, as Snape accompanied him.

Harry let himself stand and feel the ground beneath his feet for a few more moments. He could have sworn he saw Snape turn his head back to look in Harry's direction for just a second. But who could be sure of anything they'd seen, or heard? The next morning, Harry wondered if it had all just been a dream.


	4. The Truth

Before the night before, Harry would never have referred to Draco Malfoy by his first name. Now he wondered how Malfoy would react to hearing him say "Draco" instead for once. Would he react like Harry had, when Harry had felt Malfoy's breath on his neck, heard his name whispered like that? It was difficult, learning that the boy he thought was his school rival, felt so strongly for him. He started to wonder obsessively about when it started, whether it was obvious, really, and he had just been blind. Maybe Malfoy had been trying to get his attention all along and had just been doing it wrong. Maybe he had been confused about his feelings and blamed Harry for months, maybe even years. But then Harry would tell himself not to get cocky and decided that perhaps Malfoy was secretly good, and had pinned Harry as his reason for wanting to come over to the good side.

Whatever the reason, Malfoy's pride had been battered, he had been estranged from his family, his life was being threatened at school, and it certainly wasn't for a silly crush. If it was true, if Harry was the reason behind every unforeseeable self-sacrifice Malfoy was making ...

For the time being, Harry decided to swallow his pride and do the difficult thing. He had hated Malfoy for long enough. It was about time he made peace. Malfoy deserved that much.

His attempts could not start immediately, however. Malfoy wasn't at breakfast the morning following the fire. The students who had been called to Snape's office were not present either. Everyone within earshot seemed to be talking about it. Murder conspiracies and potential future assassination attempts were dwelt upon and discussed at length, until Harry decided that he really needed a walk, and left the table.

With no classes that morning and decent weather for the first time in weeks, Harry decided to wander to grounds for the first half-hour. The attempted murder had brought to light more than just his ex-rival's true feelings. It was a reminder that the war was still at his doorstep. The people he cared about weren't safe. Not even within Hogwarts. Just because the evil was being kept out didn't mean there was none within the walls to begin with. This wake-up call had kept Harry awake for most of the night – when he wasn't thinking about Malfoy, he was thinking about what he still had to do.

...

'Stay on your side of the bench, Potter.'

Even when most of the vitriol had left his tone, Malfoy's voice had the seemingly unending ability to sound catty. Potion's class had remained much the same throughout their school life, and as though it had some magical property that could not be abated, the moment the two boys stepped into the room, not even an open declaration of love could have stopped them from irritating each other. Then again, Malfoy had had a stressful night, and it didn't look like he had gotten any sleep at all. His lower lip meekly displayed a cut close to the left corner, and his hair looked like it had been roughly flattened on the way out the door. Even his tie had been done sloppily, giving Harry a strange urge to reach over and straighten the damn thing. Malfoy wouldn't have been able to stand looking in such a state a couple of months ago.

Their mini-wars in class together toned down moderately, despite the occasional spat. Harry did his best to avoid conflict, though it wasn't easy. For someone who was willing to lay down everything he knew for the sake of doing what was right by the one he loved, Malfoy could still be pretty highly-strung. At times it seemed like he intended to keep fighting. Harry wondered why Malfoy didn't at least make some attempts at flirting, or being a bit nicer. Those moments of thought, especially when uninterrupted, only ever resulted in Harry wondering whether he _wanted_ Malfoy to make moves on him. That didn't mean he was getting overly fond in return, did it? Perhaps he ought to have been feeling at least a little revolted, a little awkward, maybe? But he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but deeply flattered.

Harry blamed it on his inability to concentrate on the task at hand, but Malfoy beat him (not that Harry had much chance anyway. Snape always found a way to make it look like Malfoy had won). The blonde took nothing but a hollow pleasure in it. Harry had caught several small fleeting glances throughout the class, and also noticed that Snape was making a much less marked effort to keep his own searching looks from being noticed. His eyes barely strayed from the pair except to insult the occasional Gryffindor or avoid stepping on his long robes. Part of him wondered if Malfoy knew definitely he had saved him wearing the invisibility cloak, and guessed that he had stayed to hear the rest of the conversation. That same part of him knew that Snape must have gathered as much.

After deciding that something needed to be done about Malfoy in regards to the war, Harry came to the conclusion that some sort of allegiance needed to be acknowledged. He didn't need Malfoy to know that he knew what was going on in Malfoy's heart. He would let him hide his feelings. At the thought, Harry felt a slight sense of disappointment, but squashed it before it could grow.

It wasn't easy to find Malfoy. Obviously, the ex-Slytherin Prince had had practice in hiding, both from his housemates to everyone else he may not want to be found by. Of course, Harry still had the Marauder's Map, which gave him the upper hand over everybody when it came to hide'n'seek. Knowing that he had no chance of striking up a conversation during, before or after class, which were the only times he could interact with Malfoy on a casual basis, Harry waited until classes were over and went straight to the boy's dormitory of the Gryffindor tower to find the map and find Malfoy. Instead of lurking around the dungeons or the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, Harry's eyes found the Malfoy dot wandering aimlessly around a tower not far from the tower he was in, and he went quickly to seek him out.

He was just in time to catch his prey, who was descending the tower stairs deep in thought. They almost collided, and were saved only by quick footwork and regaining balance against the wall for a moment.

'What are you doing up here?' Malfoy instantly interrogated, after the initial stunned look had worn off.

'I could ask you the same thing,' Harry automatically replied.

'None of your business.'

'Fine.'

Harry was dimly aware that this wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. Malfoy lingered for a breath in front of Harry before making a move to pass by him further down the stairs. Harry grabbed his arm.

'Wait.'

Something new flashed over Malfoy's face, but the expression, whatever it was, was gone as soon as it had appeared. Harry wished he had thought of what he was going to say instead of just coming after Malfoy. He really needed to get a hold of this "think now, act later" business.

'What?'

Harry realized he was still holding Malfoy, and decided not to let go of it. He let his hand remain on Malfoy's upper arm, just resting there, so it could be pushed away with ease if it wasn't wanted.

'I never really thanked you,' he said. 'You know. It would have been easier on you to follow orders, but you didn't. I could be dead by now if you'd just done what you'd been told.'

There was a lengthy pause. Malfoy's eyes never left Harry's face, and Harry refused to look away first. But Malfoy, surprised as he looked, was the first to break the silence.

'That was pretty much what Dumbledore said,' he said quietly. Harry noticed that he'd never heard Malfoy say Dumbledore's name without scorn before. 'But you were both wrong.'

'How?' the last sentence had caught Harry somewhat by surprise.

Malfoy looked away, and shrugged Harry's hand away as though it caused him some discomfort.

'It would never have been as easy as _just following orders_.'

He made a move to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm again, feeling strongly that there was more to be said. It wasn't supposed to end as though nothing had been achieved. But the moment he touched Malfoy's arm again, Malfoy spun around, stepping forward and pinning him to the wall in one fluent motion that didn't register in Harry's conscious until it had already happened. Instantly, they were so close that their noses were touching, Malfoy's face a bare inch from Harry's, eyes half closed but staring with more intensity than Harry's wide eyes could. In a split second, the rest of the universe ceased to exist and it was just the two of them. Harry could barely wonder what would happen next, but only two things came to mind. Either Malfoy was going to hit him, or Malfoy was going to kiss him, and somehow Harry couldn't bring himself to care either way. He just wanted Malfoy to do _something_, because the anticipation was driving him mad. Malfoy's face was so close. So close that Harry could no longer tell if their lips had touched or not.

But Malfoy did nothing. He took a step back, as if he'd been doused in cold water, and turned and took the steps two at a time, until he reached the landing ten steps below and Harry could hear him walking briskly down the corridor. His heart was beating strangely fast. His face was almost numb. He touched his fingers to his lips. He didn't know how he could tell if Malfoy had kissed him. All he knew was that the very thought lit up a lightning storm in his chest, and it wasn't anger or shame. He wasn't disgusted in the least. He was exhilarated. And until he went to bed that night and lay down to properly think, frightened and excited, all he knew was that he wanted it to happen again.


	5. What Do I Feel?

At first, what to do next about Malfoy was more difficult to figure out than what to do next about the war. Harry needed to get his priorities straight, he knew that much, but there was no way he could decide what his actions would be regarding Voldemort until he had gotten Malfoy off his mind. He had given up on convincing himself that he wasn't gay, but he settled for the possibility that he was bisexual. If Malfoy could make him feel more hot and bothered than a flirtatious girl who pushed her tits into his back "accidentally" before a Quidditch match, he couldn't deny that he was attracted to boys. To be fair, Malfoy wasn't too hard on the eyes. He had a certain charm, even if he did have the incredible capacity to be a total, utter dick.

It was troubling to Harry, having a problem he didn't feel he could share with Ron or Hermione, but they seemed to be quite content to live in their private little conflict. Harry was semi-glad for the distraction, so he wouldn't feel too left out or distanced. He did wish the two of them would get together and get it over with already.

'I told you, they were _my_ eggs, because they were on _my_ plate. How hard is that to understand?' Hermione repeated, for the fifth time.

'You weren't eating them,' Ron protested, for what felt like the tenth time. Harry stole another glance over his shoulder while they fought. Malfoy still hadn't come down for breakfast yet. He had been avoiding Harry since their scene on the stairs. Even in class he had started refusing to work at all unless he was allowed to move to another seat. The teachers were at a loss as to who to be angry at, so they decided to be angry at both of them. All except for Snape, who was as happy to move Malfoy away from Harry as he had been to seat them together. Harry got the feeling that Snape had been monitoring their relationship. On that note, the Potions professor had been picking on Harry less and stalking him more. Perhaps stalking was the wrong word, but it was difficult to apply any other word to Snape when he was keeping so keen an eye on one particular student. Hermione had pointed it out, and even Ginny, outside classes, had noted the change.

By dinner that particular day, Harry noted that Malfoy hadn't come to the hall at all, and found himself worrying that Malfoy hadn't eaten all day. Snape wasn't at dinner either, but Harry's suspicions about Snape stalking him were further confirmed when Snape summoned Harry to his office via Filch for an unfair detention before he even got to finish his potatoes. Harry wondered if Snape was allergic to just calling people into his office for a chat, like a normal teacher.

'There is no point in pussyfooting around the issue, so I shall make my position clear to you now,' Snape began, the moment Harry shut the door behind him. He didn't bother to take a seat. From the looks of things, Snape didn't intend Harry to stay long. He hadn't even sat down.

'Draco, as you may or may not know, is my godson, and as such his welfare is of particular interest to me,' Snape continued. He was standing beside his desk, fixing Harry with a look that commanded attention. Harry hadn't known Malfoy was Snape's godson, but the news did not surprise him. Snape had always been particularly good to Draco, above all his other Slytherins.

'I know you were present during our conversation following the fire,' Snape continued, after a short pause. His directness caught Harry off-guard. 'I intended for you to hear everything.'

Again, Harry had suspected as much, but this time was somewhat surprised.

'Why did you want me to know?' he asked.

'Draco needs to know where he stands in relation to the war. He is confused,' Snape said, sounding strangely accusatory, 'and you have known the extent to which for two weeks now. The issue of his feelings towards you needs to be addressed, and as I have had no success in opening his eyes, I had hoped you would have the honour to spare him his dignity and make your feelings known in turn.'

Harry was baffled at first by this onslaught of information, and took several moments to recover, during which Snape watched from the front of his desk with an unreadable expression on his sour face.

'So ... you showed me the truth about why Malfoy stopped being a Death Eater ... because you want me to ...'

'The boy needs to wake up. And so do you,' Snape interrupted impatiently. 'So long as he clings to the illusion of a possibility of a future with you, his loyalty to Dumbledore and the Order is at risk. The sooner your disinterest is made plainly known and he understands his position, the sooner we can be sure that every decision he makes is made with a clear head. His head is wanted for his betrayal, I hope you realize.'

Harry had to take another few seconds to digest what Snape had said. Snape thought he wanted nothing to do with Malfoy. He had tried to provoke a reaction from Harry by revealing Malfoy's most personal secret, and expected ... what? For _Harry_ to feel ashamed?

'You want me to go to Malfoy and tell him I know he's in love with me ... and then reject him? Am I getting this right?'

'More or less,' Snape said soberly. Harry wondered how he could phrase "fuck no" better.

'How would that make things better? If anything, don't you think it would make it worse?'

'He needs to be made aware of the full reality of his situation,' Snape repeated, as though he were talking to a five-year-old. 'As long as he doesn't know, he can trick himself into feeling hopeful. You have kept him hanging for long enough. He deserves to know the truth.'

'You're right, he does,' Harry agreed, 'but you don't know what the truth is. So don't tell me what I should be telling him.'

Snape's eyebrow raised by barely a centimetre. 'And what is the truth, if it isn't that you are too cowardly to be honest and let him down gently?'

Harry wondered how he got to this point so quickly. Even he didn't know exactly how he felt about Malfoy. All he knew was ...

'I like him.' And _why_ was he telling Snape this?! 'Maybe I don't want to marry him and adopt kids and grow old together, but I'm sixteen years old for God's sake. Sixteen-year-olds get confused about how they feel. The world isn't hanging by a thread because Malfoy and I can't figure out what to do about being attracted to each other.' _Ye Gods_, that sounded weird being said out loud. Snape said nothing for the moment. His expression had barely changed. Harry felt his face warming up.

'And what will you be telling Draco, in this case?' he finally asked.

'Isn't it your job to manipulate everything that goes on between him and me?' Harry retorted. The barest hint of a smile lifted the corner of Snape's lips, but it may as well have been an illusion for the short time it lasted.

'Allow me to clarify, if I may,' Snape said quietly. If not for the perfect silence in the room, Harry may not have understood his words for the distance between them.

'After hearing that the reason behind Draco's conversion was his warm feelings toward you, instead of reacting with distaste and avoiding his presence in case he made any advances, you began to feel ... fonder of him?'

'I suppose, but I don't see why you have to repeat it.'

'Bear with me. Would you say the attraction is purely physical?'

'What? Why do you need to know?'

'I need to know whether or not you deserve the young man under my care. Do you have any genuine feelings for him?'

'It's none of your business.'

'Do you have any real interest in Draco?'

'For Merlin's sake, Severus, stop grilling him!'

Both Snape and Harry turned instantaneously to address Malfoy, who had emerged as abruptly as he had spoken, from the door behind Snape's desk. He looked a mixture of exasperation, embarrassment and shame, his eyes constantly flickering between Snape and Harry, finally settling on the floor.

'I asked you to stay in the storeroom until he left,' Snape said, with vague disappointment.

'You were there the whole time?' Harry asked breathlessly.

'Well I didn't apparate into the storeroom midway through the conversation, if that's what you're asking,' Malfoy returned hotly, still not quite meeting Harry's eyes.

'Do you understand yet?' Snape asked Malfoy, as though Harry was no longer in the room.

'What's there to understand? You hide me in the storeroom and tell me to keep quiet so you can interrogate him, just to –'

'To make it clear that just because he has not leapt into your arms, it does not mean he hates you.'

Harry, flabbergasted by the sudden revelations that had been showering themselves upon him for the past ten minutes, remained silent as the heated debate carried on before him.

'You can't just toy with me like this whenever you get sick of waiting! I can take care of my own affairs, and this is none of your business.'

'I could see you were taking good care of your own affairs, by how you were avoiding the issue. I just could not bear intervening when you so clearly had everything under control.'

'I wasn't going to fall apart even if he said he hated me! And by the way, what did you expect would happen if he _did_ say he hated me? Did you have some grand scheme sorted out just in case that happened? Or were you counting on some sort of admission of tolerance, maybe hoping he'd come out with a tender confession of puppy love, is that why you made me stay and listen?'

'You could have left any time. You could have nobly revealed my so-called "scheme" to Potter in order to spare him the embarrassment and won his respect, but you stayed.'

'That doesn't mean anything. You just involved yourself like you do in everything, you just can't leave well enough alone!'

Harry, who had removed his glasses and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, groaned in exasperation. Snape and Malfoy suddenly seemed to remember that he was in the room, and when Harry threw his glasses back on, he could see that Snape's expression had only changed marginally into one of annoyance, and Malfoy looked, if possible, twice as emotionally disturbed.

'Have you both forgotten what I actually said?' he asked desperately. There was no turning back. He may as well just out with it. 'I like you, Malfoy. Draco. I like you.'

The silence seemed to echo. Snape looked a combination of smug satisfaction and observance, pausing to see what the boys would do. Malfoy hesitated. Harry could do nothing but wait. Several times it seemed like the blonde was about to say something, but he stopped instantly every time. He hung his head finally, and a breathless laugh escaped his lips.

'Are you sure?'

The correct response came instantly to Harry, though it could easily have been a bad idea. He walked up, passing the desk, and put his hands on Malfoy's shoulders, circling one around the back of his neck as he reached up to press a firm kiss to Malfoy's lips. At first the kiss was one-sided, unresponsive, which may have been due to Snape's impassive presence, and may have been due to shock. But eventually Malfoy parted his lips slightly, letting one hand stray to the back of Harry's neck and the other to his cheek, and kissed back, softly, unsurely.

In a few short seconds, the moment hit Harry squarely in the head. He was kissing Malfoy. He was _kissing_. Draco. Malfoy. In Snape's office. And as Malfoy scraped his fingertips gently, as if by accident, over Harry's left ear, a delicious shiver ran up his spine and he reflexively tilted his head so as to avoid squashing his glasses into his closed eyes.

_I guess this means I'm a bit gay_, Harry thought resignedly. Then he reminded himself that he was bisexual. And that a tall, blonde, sensitive yet bullying antihero was sucking gently on his lower lip and tracing his jaw with shyly teasing fingertips. And he instantly felt better.

'Unique and novelty as this moment is,' Snape interfered after a few blissfully dazed seconds, 'I would thank you both to take it somewhere _other than my office_.'


	6. The First Steps Aren't Meant to be Easy

Neither of them expected anything about their newfound romance to be easy. For one thing, Malfoy seemed to insist on making Harry chase him. Harry didn't want to have to prove himself, since technically Malfoy was the ass who needed to apologize for years of bullying, but he wasn't about to pressure his seemingly damaged Slytherin friend (he hated the word "boyfriend" and refused to use it because of its emasculating quality).

Malfoy's remaining insecurities were less than half of the problem. Making the transition from awkward ex-rivals to lovers was as hard as cutting a pebble with a blunt knife. There were old niggling habits and reflexes to get over. They still annoyed each other purely on principle. Neither knew what was allowed or what was "too gay", so moments of genuine passion and sensitivity (hand-holding under a bench, a hesitant nuzzle after a spontaneous kiss) came in little bursts and typically ended in blushing and a refusal to look each other in the eye. Likewise, because it was so strange to talk about, they didn't talk about it, and as such had no idea where each other's boundaries were. They were also still trying to get used to calling each other by their first names, which they only really did when they were alone together, but it felt very odd after five and a half years of spitting out each other's last names like poison.

On top of all this, both boys were desperate to keep their togetherness a secret. If it got out, not only would Malfoy become as much of a target as Dumbledore and Harry themselves, but Harry's cred as a hero would very likely go way down. Fraternising with a well-known ex-Death Eater Slytherin, whether or not he was reformed, was only half the problem. No-one knew he was into guys, and if anyone found out, it would cause a massive scandal. As if the Daily Prophet didn't have enough excuses to defame him. Harry didn't even feel like he could tell Ron, his very best friend, though honestly he didn't know whether Hermione would be freaked out or happy to learn that he taken her advice to be nicer to Malfoy so utterly to heart that he was spending almost as much time with Malfoy as he was with his traditional Gryffindor crowd.

Ginny, sharp as she was, wasn't as easily fooled as everyone else. She was used to keeping a thoroughly trained eye on Harry, so when she first noticed the looks and the touches the boys were sharing she knew the meaning behind them. Of course, if Harry was deliberately hiding the information, she wasn't going to go and share. She understood the impact it would have. But she wasn't going to pretend she didn't know.

'At least you should tell Hermione. I can understand not telling Ron, but at least tell Hermione,' she insisted one day, while the two sat alone in the evening in the common room. There was a match on between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at the Quidditch pitch, and normally the two would be there cheering on their friends and enjoying their favourite game, but Harry was feeling oddly tired and didn't feel like going out in the rain just to watch two houses he couldn't decide between playing the game when he wasn't up there himself.

'Telling Hermione is about as good as telling Ron,' Harry said, staring at the fire and inwardly wondering if Malfoy was still annoyed at him for pointing out how shitty his History of Magic essay was. 'She'd snap at some point and tell him. I know she would.'

'You need to trust her more. She'd understand the weight of this as much as I do.'

'She'd trust Ron. And Ron would never talk to me again.'

Ginny sighed in frustration and pulled up her knees to huddle into the couch. 'Has Malfoy told anyone?'

'His godfather knows,' Harry muttered. Snape was pretty much entirely responsible for them being together, yes, but he was still a manipulative prick.

'He has a godfather?' Ginny asked with interest. There was a moment's pause. Harry could guess by the expression on her face what Ginny was about to mention, and the thought made his stomach tighten uncomfortably. 'If Sirius was still around, I bet you'd feel able to tell him. He'd support you whatever you do ... or whoever.'

The dirty pun on the end only cheered up the mood slightly, but Harry knew it was true as well. He desperately wished Sirius was still alive. He was envious of Malfoy for still having a trustworthy mentor who so obviously would do anything for him. Sirius and Snape would have finally had something in common, besides the side they fought on.

'Promise you won't tell Hermione just because I don't,' Harry pleaded suddenly. He would have told Sirius. He knew that. He would have steeled himself first, and done so hesitantly and in the most secretive, paranoid way possible, but he would have told him. But without Sirius, there was no-one aside from Ginny he'd trust with the secret.

'I promise,' Ginny sighed. Harry knew she thought he was being childish, but there was nothing for it.

...

Malfoy was an easy enough person to read, and when he tried to open up he was purely endearing, much as Harry hated to admit it. He wouldn't call him cute, at least not to his face, but Harry sometimes got an urge to tickle or cuddle Malfoy like he never had with anyone else before. On one particular day, about two weeks after they had first admitted their feelings, Malfoy asked Harry the following question;

'What did you mean by "like"?'

At first, Harry was surprised by how unsurprised he was. He was aware that he hadn't actually said "I love you" to Malfoy even once. Love was such a strong word. He did want to _be with_ Malfoy, he did find him more attractive each day, and every new thing he learned was something new he liked. Malfoy's soft spot for Turkish delight had turned into a reason to get turned on by candy. Malfoy's eyes weren't just pale blue, they were sky blue, misty, sometimes stormy, and sometimes Harry could measure Malfoy's emotions by how dark they got. Malfoy was someone Harry wanted to protect. He was deeply important, frighteningly so. The very thought of something happening to him because of his affiliation with Harry made Harry feel sick, and the thought of leaving Malfoy in order to ensure his safety made Harry even sicker.

So he told Malfoy this, and punctuated the end of the last sentence with Malfoy's first name, said in a tone of voice he had realized had a certain effect on those misty sky-blue eyes.

'Well I think I understand,' Malfoy said after a silent pause for contemplation. He went back to tugging handfuls of grass out of the patch that they were sitting on, turning his back to Harry. Harry wondered if he should have just said "I love you" to keep things simple, but then Malfoy lay back and rested his head in Harry's lap, and Harry decided he was happy right where they were.

'You were right, when you said that about us not really knowing what to do about being attracted to each other,' he said, twirling his wand in his hands and staring at the branches of the tree they sat beneath. Harry was glad to hear it said out loud, even if it didn't change anything.

'I don't ever know what to say or do,' Malfoy said tentatively, inching further up and looking away. Harry listened carefully. Malfoy wanted to say something, and was skirting around the topic. Harry knew the act pretty well by now. 'I just wish you didn't make me so fucking nervous,' he growled, sitting up quickly and loosely circling his drawn-up knees with his arms, bowing his head like a child. Harry blinked and realized he hadn't heard Malfoy swear before. He didn't have time to question the statement before Malfoy turned abruptly, and pulled Harry close by the front of his shirt. When their mouths met hastily, their tongues did as well, almost by instinct, as though they had kissed in such a way a hundred times before. Harry was so used to the shy kisses, the I-don't-know-what's-normal-or-okay kisses, that Malfoy's sudden boldness after his declaration of nervousness stunned him into complacency. He lazily swirled his tongue around Malfoy's and when he felt a narrow hand slide up his leg he didn't flinch away. On the contrary, he felt his breath hitch, the heat rush downstairs, and wrapped his fingers around Malfoy's wrist as it ventured daringly close to his crotch, stroking his inner thigh and even thumbing the zipper on his jeans.

Malfoy ended the kiss with a couple of licks at Harry's lips, their noses nudging together as their eyes slowly opened. 'I ... want to touch you,' Malfoy admitted. His hand had slowed to a stop on Harry's leg, the other still buried in Harry's hair. Harry didn't know what to say, but he wanted to give the right reply. Was there such a thing as too soon? Either way, it wasn't like anything about their relationship was conventional. He pulled Malfoy's hand to where he wanted it to be, and allowed his other hand to start undoing the buttons on Malfoy's shirt. The pressure of another boy's hand on his crotch was delicious and unfamiliar. He hadn't ever gotten hard so quickly.

'Then touch me,' he breathed, and yanked Malfoy into another deep kiss.


	7. What is Expected

Harry was worried that he didn't have a clue how to "do things" with another guy, but it didn't seem to matter. That nervousness only added to his excitement and anticipation about when they would next be able to be alone; the Room of Requirement, the whole weekend. It didn't help that Malfoy had been getting visibly randy. They couldn't spend too much time together or single each other out in a crowd without seeming suspicious, so they only had scant few moments together until the weekend, and Malfoy was starting to push. Harry wanted to tell him to back off before people started talking, but at the same time, Malfoy had developed a strange ability to send a shiver of pleasure up Harry's spine with a simple stroke of the neck.

They didn't plan to have sex or anything. They just wanted to spend more time in only each other's company. There was a lot that had still been left unsaid. Harry urgently wanted to clarify the way he felt, to get the plain truth out in the open and make sure Malfoy was clear on it. Every now and again, Malfoy would say something offhand that made Harry think he believed Harry _only_ liked him, and _couldn't_ love him, and Harry wanted to disprove that.

Snape constantly gave Harry a worrying feeling that he psychically knew everything that was going on. He seemed to be watching the pair more intently (he had seated them together again and they had pretended to protest) than he had before, which made Harry wonder if Malfoy had told him what they were semi-planning to do over the weekend. The idea was worrying. He didn't want his least favourite teacher speculating over what he and said teacher's godson might possibly be doing when they finally got a solid block of alone time.

Unfortunately, Ginny wasn't the only one to notice Harry's sudden change. Spending the entire weekend out of the company of his two best friends when they were already speculating about whether or not Harry had a secret girlfriend was dangerous but there was no way he could call it off. And when Ginny tried to defend Harry from their interrogation, both instantly assumed something was going on between the two of them.

'If you're dating my sister, I think I deserve to know,' Ron grumbled as they made their way straight from breakfast to Potions.

'I'm not,' Harry insisted. But at that very second, he got an idea. If he did pretend he was with Ginny, it would direct attention away from himself and Malfoy, and though it may put Ginny in danger if the news were to somehow reach the ears of a Death Eater, it would deter a lot of another type of danger. Of course he would have to run the idea past both Ginny and Malfoy, and he planned to.

The Friday before, Harry went to Ginny and Malfoy with his proposed idea. He figured tackling it early, instead of on the day when Malfoy and himself were supposed to be seeing each other alone for the first time in days, would be better. He knew if he didn't do it soon he would only keep putting it off until he decided it wasn't worth the hassle.

Ginny was stubbornly against it.

'Do you have any idea what kind of pressure that would put us under? People won't believe it if we don't at least act like we're together, and what's your loverboy going to think of that, eh?'

'It's not like we have to publicly kiss or anything,' Harry protested. But Malfoy wasn't much more supportive of the idea when Harry presented it to him.

'A diversion is only going to be necessary when, _if_, people start to suspect us,' he insisted aggressively, though Harry knew it was mainly possessiveness. Malfoy already got jealous whenever he saw Hermione being her usual chipper, affectionate self with Harry, and wasn't too keen on the idea of him even pretending to get any closer to Ginny when she was clearly a close friend. Harry didn't see much of Malfoy for most of the rest of that day, except at dinner, where Malfoy all but refused to even look in Harry's direction, as though by suggesting something that could potentially save all that remained of their reputations he had done him a personal insult.

Harry, secretly, knew why Malfoy was angry. The idea of sharing Malfoy with one of Malfoy's friends (if he had any) grated on his nerves. He might grudgingly accept it himself, but being the secret lover when there was a public, albeit fake, one, would pretty much feel like being the third wheel no-one notices. No-one would accept Malfoy with Harry the way they'd accept Ginny with Harry. Ginny with Harry just sounded too natural. It even scared Harry. Because natural as it sounded, when he thought about spending time with Ginny, kissing her, loving her, it was utterly hollow, ridiculous even. But when he thought about everything he had ever felt or done with Malfoy, his body seemed to fill with bubbles, his lips curled into a smile of their own accord, and people would ask why his eyes had suddenly lit up. He couldn't explain that. But he wanted to, during the weekend, to make sure Malfoy knew. Just to make sure he _knew_.

So on Saturday morning, Harry got up two hours too early and could barely focused on the homework he really ought to be doing instead, and headed to the Room of Requirement to wait for Malfoy.

To his hidden delight, Malfoy arrived an hour early. The look of plain surprise on his face when he saw Harry already slowly pacing remained only for a moment, and then sank into a classic smirk.

'Simply couldn't wait, Golden Boy? I didn't know you could be so impatient.'

The tone in which the words were delivered might have annoyed Harry once, but they were delivered while an arm was being draped over his shoulder and a cursive glance was thrown soon after, to make sure there was no-one in sight, before Malfoy angled his head down for a swift but intimate kiss.

'You're one to talk. We were supposed to meet at one, weren't we? It's only twelve.' Malfoy didn't listen – he was too busy ignoring Harry's point and peppering kisses along his neck.

'Shouldn't we wait until we're in the Room, to do this sort of thing?' Harry pointed out, though he was glad Malfoy hadn't stubbornly continued to be angry at him.

'It's sort of ... exciting, though, don't you think? The risk of getting caught,' Malfoy said between kisses.

'Everything you say and do makes me think you want everyone to know about us,' Harry said breathily as Malfoy's hand moved to the nape of his neck and his mouth settled on his collarbone. But it didn't stay there. Malfoy dragged Harry into the room by the front of his belt, where a ready-made bed sat reasonably close at hand and a fire crackled against the far wall.

'Maybe I do want everyone to know,' Malfoy said, as he led Harry to the bed, sitting him down and straddling him. He pressed his face to Harry's hair, his lips to his ears, whispering the words, breathing Harry's scent. 'Maybe I want the war to be over, all of this to have just gone away. I want to be able to introduce you to my mother, at home, at Christmas. I want ... I want it so badly, sometimes I think it could really happen. I just ... I want to be with you. That's all, Harry.'

Harry couldn't think of anything to say in reply for a moment. Malfoy had clearly been thinking about it all night and all morning. He seemed to reel himself back in, and hid his earnest expression with one of pretend nonchalance.

'But we can make do with what we have, I suppose. Consider yourself lucky, Harry. I normally don't settle for half-measures.' Pushing him onto his back, Malfoy leaned over Harry and kissed him deeply, letting his hands roam where they wished.

'Spoiled brat,' Harry teased, rubbing circles on Malfoy's back.

'Clearly,' Malfoy said, sucking determinedly on Harry's neck. Harry knew he was going to have a hickey. He honestly didn't care. He played with the collar of Malfoy's shirt and wriggled further up the bed so his legs weren't hanging off the end. 'I love you,' he said. He said it without really thinking. It was the truth. Malfoy stopped suddenly. When he lifted his face, his eyes met Harry's immediately, and stayed there, frozen, like time had utterly stopped for him.

'If you're saying that out of pity, Potter, I'll have to kill you,' he said matter-of-factly, but each word burned with honesty. Harry sat up, unseating Malfoy, and rolled him over so he could hold him to the luxurious sheets and stare him squarely in the eyes.

'You'll have noticed the scar on my hand by now,' Harry said, nudging his nose to Malfoy's. 'I don't lie. I could never lie about this.'

'Then say it again,' Malfoy challenged.

'I love you,' Harry repeated without hesitation. He knew he should be more nervous than this, but it was the plain truth. He had figured it out gradually, without really noticing. He knew how he felt. He could feel Malfoy's heartbeat against his chest and his pulse against his lips. _Words can do this to him?_ Harry delighted at the thought. Maybe once their relationship progressed a bit further along he could try talking dirty and see what that could do.

'Again,' Malfoy repeated hoarsely.

'I love you,' Harry said, 'you needy, pampered, wonderful bastard.'

'I'm not just those things,' Malfoy whispered, and Harry felt his adam's apple bob against his cheek as Malfoy spoke. 'I'm lucky, too.'

'Lucky,' Harry repeated in a whisper. He had undone most of Malfoy's buttons absent-mindedly with his hands, and took the next rational step, sliding the shirt down off Malfoy's shoulders, smiling when his lover arched his back, allowing the shirt to be removed completely. Harry took Malfoy's arm, and his gaze met the Dark Mark. It was a slight shock at first; he'd almost forgotten Malfoy had one. The blonde stiffened, trying futilely to hide it. He looked away. Harry knew Malfoy hated the ugly tattoo. He wondered if he shut his eyes while showering and dressing, to hide the sight.

Harry shut his eyes and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the Mark. He heard Malfoy gasp and felt a tug, but didn't release the arm. He felt the faint, sickening writhing beneath Malfoy's skin, and knew it was the Mark, perhaps trying to escape the loving gesture. He traced a line from the bottom to the top with his tongue, this time looking up to see the shirtless Malfoy's half-dazed expression as he watched, enchanted. After a minute, Harry released Malfoy's arm, a little embarrassed by the display.

Malfoy dissolved Harry's agitation by throwing his arms around the Chosen One's neck and pulling him back down onto the mattress, rolling him onto his back and pinning him there with the weight of his body. He wriggled Harry out of his t-shirt, tossing it over yonder and kissing Harry furiously as soon as his lips were once more within reach. Enthusiastically, Harry's hands went to Malfoy's lower back, a place he knew Malfoy loved to be touched.

Pulling away slightly, Malfoy chuckled as Harry tried futilely to reach another kiss, but said nothing. Their eyes locked again, silver-blue meeting forest green, and then Malfoy lifted his face to lightly press his warm lips to Harry's forehead. Harry's scar. He kissed it gently, sweetly. Lovingly.

'We're both a bit damaged, aren't we?' he breathed. Harry nodded.

'I suppose we're perfect for each other that way.'

He could feel the smile on Malfoy's face before he saw it. Ginny might be what's expected, of course. But with the weight of Malfoy's body securing him down, stopping him from floating away on the bliss that was building up inside him, he knew where he really belonged.


	8. Why it's a Secret

Harry was only worried about one thing now. He knew how he felt, and he was okay with it. The student demographic, realistically speaking, was about as likely to notice or even believe that Harry and Malfoy liked snogging each other as they were to believe that McGonagall was a stripper. Things were going better than expected. But there were still minor irritations and complications.

For instance, Harry knew he was protective of that which he cared strongly about, but he didn't expect his fist to automatically connect with Theodore Nott's stomach upon hearing Malfoy's name slandered outside Arithmancy. Nor did he expect the rage that bubbled up inside him when Ron started his customary complaining about Malfoy in the common room. In fact, every time Malfoy's name was mentioned in a less favourable tone of voice, Harry had to fight the temptation to staunchly defend his lover ... or soon-to-be-lover, anyway.

The weekend had ended with a satisfying verbal conclusion – they loved each other. Malfoy had taunted Harry about his tendency to cuddle and habit for hair-pulling in moments of passion, but accepted both behaviours in exchange for Harry tolerating his neck fetish (biting, licking and nuzzling included). But, despite the forty-eight hours they had in which to do, they hadn't _done it_. Harry knew they were close to doing _something_ more than kissing and palming and urgently dry-humping when they got particularly horny. A flirtatious touch of eroticism tinged every other conversation. They both knew what they wanted. They just didn't know how or where to start, or how to go about starting.

Ginny's infuriating ability to read Harry like a book once again became prominent.

'Maybe you should experiment a little,' she suggested in the common room one day, as Harry tried to shush her, looking around nervously. 'Don't try to start it with words, just get bold with your hands or something and see where things go from there.'

'And I suppose you've tried this tactic yourself?' Harry questioned dubiously.

'Sure have,' Ginny said frankly. 'It seems to work on boys.'

Harry hid his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as he breathed steadily. 'It's not that easy with him. He turns off as easily as he turns on.'

'Well, how do most ... _romantic moments_, start for you then?' she asked, tapping the back of Harry's head with a rolled-up Daily.

'I dunno,' Harry mumbled, blushing.

'I can't hear you.'

'I don't know,' he growled. 'I can't just plan one.'

'Then pick a moment and set the mood. What kind of music does he like?'

Harry tried to imagine luring Malfoy into a romantic setting with roses and slow music, and snorted. Ginny rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry. 'Hopeless,' she said, clicking her tongue like a young Mrs Weasley and putting the newspaper down on the couch next to her.

'Boys have needs, you and I both know that,' she said. 'Malfoy, _aristocratic _and _self-controlled_ as he is, is no more immune than any other bloke,' she yawned sarcastically.

'That's my self-controlled aristocrat you're talking about,' Harry warned, batting at her knees, and Ginny laughed. 'So he finally stakes his claim,' she said. Harry smiled. He had to admit. He was glad, no matter what, that Ginny was still his friend. He had been afraid, given their history, that she might feel betrayed and abandon him once she discovered his secret, but she had been fantastic. She made up for Ron and Hermione's ignorant but well-meant misjudgements twice over.

Harry only wished Malfoy had someone like her on his side. Malfoy had no Ginny to confide in, no Hermione to sit with during moments where he needed to be with someone in unbroken silence. He certainly didn't have a Ron to muck about with when he just needed a best mate. He didn't even have a Hagrid to visit occasionally when he needed general, welcoming adult support. All he had was a godfather who was as likely to be comforting as he was to transform into a rainbow butterfly. All these responsibilities fell on Harry's shoulders, and this meant he had to understand Malfoy's every need when he barely understood his own.

'You know, Hermione doesn't mind you, and Ron could stand you if you gave him a chance,' Harry hinted, as he and Malfoy sat in Potions trying to stir the thick black muck in the bottom of the cauldron.

'No thanks,' Malfoy muttered. 'And before you even mention Weaslette ...'

'Why not?' Harry complained under his breath. 'If you think your reputation could get any worse by befriending a couple of Gryffindors ...'

'One thing will lead to another and they will find out about us,' Malfoy muttered under his breath as Snape prowled past, like a great black panther, looking with disdain at the stuff in the bottom of the cauldron and giving Harry a look that suggested it was all his fault.

'Has it crossed your mind that they might actually be supportive?' Harry suggested.

'Has it crossed your mind that they might actually think I'm trying to seduce, kidnap and murder you?' Draco retorted. 'They don't trust me. They don't hate me, but they don't trust me.'

'They trust _me_,' Harry insisted. He had to be careful to keep the conversation under his breath. A couple of people were glancing over at their hushed conversation, and apparently Malfoy noticed, as he pointedly elbowed Harry in the side, and Harry responded in kind.

'Specifically, they trust me to know whether or not I'm dating a psycho.'

'Shut up. You're insulting my psychotic sensibilities.'

'Draco,' Harry whispered, gently squashing Malfoy's toy with his heel. 'They're my best friends. They'll find out one way or another. They already know I'm seeing _someone_. They're not idiots. I'd like it if they get to know you better first, before they find out I've been hiding you from them.'

...

Malfoy, unhelpfully, wandered off on his own after Potions, refusing to wait for Harry. Harry moodily returned to Gryffindor after a lengthy, aimless wander around the towers, expecting at least to have an evening to himself. Instead, he was met with a nervous Neville who stood shifting from foot to foot outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, biting his lower lip.

'The password's "fiddlesticks",' Harry said. The portrait swung forward, but Neville remained where he was.

'What's wrong?' Harry asked. Neville glanced left and right, then pulled Harry by his elbow through the portrait hole, through the common room and up to the boy's dormitory shared by the sixth years. Taken aback by Neville's sudden anxious forcefulness, Harry reminded himself to expect the unexpected from people more often.

'Zabini asked me to tell you something,' Neville said, once he was sure they were alone.

'Zabini from Slytherin? Blaise Zabini?' Harry asked, set on automatic edge by the name.

'Of course, he's the only Zabini in school,' Neville responded. 'He said that you were the only one who could through to Malfoy. He said you should warn Malfoy that he's in serious danger, and tell him to watch his step. What does he mean? Do you know, Harry? ... Harry?'

Silence reigned for a moment. Questions immediately filled Harry's head. How did Blaise figure that Harry was closest to Malfoy? Did he know about them? Why had he asked Neville to pass on the message instead of speaking to Harry personally? What exactly was he threatening to do?

Stealing out of the house that night under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, Harry sped straight to the Astronomy Tower. He had owled Malfoy as soon as he had assuaged Neville's confused panic, and Malfoy had owled right back agreeing that they should meet up.

'How did he find out?' Malfoy asked instantly as Harry threw off the cloak. 'I don't know,' Harry said honestly. Malfoy seemed to search Harry's face. Then he sighed and leant against the banister.

'We're dead if he goes anywhere with his information.'

'He might not have any proof,' Harry said, and he knew it was obvious he was grasping at straws. Malfoy shook his head slowly as Harry spoke. 'Who would take his word over, well ... over our history? It couldn't be more than a rumour if ...'

'He'll have evidence. I know Zabini, trust me, and he wouldn't go so far as to send a threat unless he had a way of backing it up. He's not a fool. He's a nasty, cunning bastard.'

Harry's heart sank and he leant against the banister, hooking his fingers over Malfoy's hand and moving in so their shoulders touched.

'So what can we do?'

The total lack of answer said enough. Malfoy's head hung low so the moonlight didn't touch his face, but his stillness and silence told Harry that he shared the fear.

'Could we ... I don't know ... try and call his bluff? Maybe he just saw something and guessed, and he's banking on his popularity in Slytherin to back him up,' Harry suggested weakly. The lack of hope in his voice betrayed him, and Malfoy's broken chuckle showed that he noticed.

'Like I said. He's not a fool.'

...

Harry went to breakfast the following morning wracked with fear. Half-expecting heads to turn and whispers to begin the moment he entered, Harry was puzzled, relieved and suspicious to see nothing had changed. He still received the customary occasional look or "hello", but nothing indicated a new rumour. Stealing a glance at Slytherin, a scan of the table showed that Malfoy hadn't arrived. Harry couldn't blame him. He had been half-tempted not to go to breakfast himself, but not wanting to look like a coward won out. Glancing further along, his eyes settled on the slender dark form of Zabini, who looked up just in time to see Harry looking straight at him. Harry looked away hastily, but the damage was done.

Even as he sat trying to ignore everyone's words save Ron's Quidditch babble, Harry caught a snippet of conversation from the green table and couldn't help looking up when he heard Malfoy's name muttered. Malfoy had entered the Great Hall with a similar look of trepidation on his face as Harry was sure he himself had worn minutes ago. Harry's gut gave a minor wrench as he heard a whisper from Pansy -

'Well, what do you know. The Fairy Prince had deemed us worthy to join for a humble breakfast.'

Giggles and snorts arose and Harry clutched his fork, trying desperately not to stab a green-tie-wearing bitch with it.

'What's the bet he bottoms?' Nott dared to shout out, and was rewarded for his boldness by a round of hoots and catcalls and a piercingly sharp look from Snape. Snape's look was redirected to Harry, who was fighting the gargantuan temptation to set Slytherin table on fire, clutching his fork so hard he though the imprint of the metal would dig into his fingers. Snape seemed to think better of blaming Harry, and his look swept Slytherin table, doing nothing to subdue the new round of shout-outs. Harry didn't know what to do. Malfoy was making a point of not looking at him – whether out of anger at Harry for _not_ setting Slytherin table on fire, or cautiousness that Harry wouldn't be brought into it, was unclear.

God only knew why, the spits and taunts were directed purely at Malfoy. Harry had thought, if the story was going to be spread, that the fact that Harry Potter was so involved would be more than the icing on the cake. But it looked as though Zabini _only_ knew that Malfoy was gay, and that Harry was the closest thing he had to a friend (being the only person in school who spent so much time in class with him), therefore all the more fun to tease before letting the bomb drop.

'What's all this?' Ron asked with a trace of amusement. Harry could barely speak and had paled. 'Harry?' Ron said tentatively. Hermione had noticed too, though initially she had been glaring at the Slytherins and looking with pity at Malfoy as he began to back away, clearly planning to leave without trying for breakfast. A tray of sausages went flying his way, and he barely ducked in time. A stray sausage smacked him across the face, and the laughing rose, despite the fact that half the teachers on their table had stood and were trying to quell the enthusiastic furore.

'Don't mind him, he goes in for that sort of thing,' a girl jeered, and Malfoy turned to walk away. Looking at Blaise, Harry wondered why he wasn't joining in. Probably a tactic for avoiding getting into trouble. He had on his face a perfectly blank, measured expression, and barely seemed to be paying attention to what was going on.

Pansy was the one who stood and blocked his way to the door. Malfoy stopped suddenly, and Harry was straddling the bench now, half-risen and ready to stand. He wasn't going to be able to hold himself back much longer.

'Pity you couldn't at least get a nice boyfriend,' Pansy said slowly and deliberately, arms crossed and hip tilted as she looked up to Malfoy with sickeningly fake saccharine in her voice. 'I don't see any knight in shining armour coming to your rescue. Still, we'd all have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see that you'd end up alone, right Dee?'

Harry rose to his feet. Fury coursed through his veins. He didn't register that the shouts had died down and the tone had changed to whispers and hisses and sounds of curiosity until he was standing right behind Malfoy. Pansy looked at Harry and clearly hadn't expected him to be standing there, but smirked when she saw he hadn't taken his wand out.

Harry didn't plan to use magic to defend his lover. He didn't plan to hit, hex or shout anybody down. He only needed to do one thing, and he knew it by instinct.

Malfoy turned around, and upon seeing Harry so close, the myriad of emotion on his face gave way to shock. He barely had time to shut his parted lips when Harry gripped the front of his shirt, and in one decidedly obvious motion, kissed him in front of the entire school.


	9. Shame Has Bugger All to do With It

Harry could feel the tenseness of Malfoy's shoulders underneath his hands, and when their lips separated it took a short while for Malfoy to open his eyes. When he did, they held a grim expression of finality.

'Do you realize what you've just done?' he said in a broken whisper. Harry nodded solemnly, his forehead bumping lightly against Malfoy's. 'I'm not ashamed of you,' he said and instantly wanted to say it again as Malfoy's eyes glimmered, though his lips remained in a tight frown and his body was still rigid.

An outbreak of whispers and sounds of shocked amusement and disgust broke the moment, and they both turned to address the mass of dumbstruck faces. Harry clutched Malfoy's hand in his, feeling the waves of his friends' and associates' horror and outrage wash over him. The look in their enemies eyes were worse. He didn't need to look at Malfoy to know what expression was on his face. Giving the hand within his own a light tug, he walked steadily out of the Great Hall, pushing unnecessarily hard past a non-magically stupefied Pansy making sure everyone with their eyes on him got a good look of how high his head was held.

Harry knew they would have to talk about it afterwards. He didn't want to say anything light-hearted about how everyone was just jealous that Harry Potter ended up with the cutest guy in school. He didn't want to say that he didn't care about what anyone else thought. He didn't want to tell Malfoy that they'd get through it together. As they sat on the outskirts of the lake under a tree that afforded decent shielding from the sight of the castle, Harry wondered what he'd say.

'Well, you've faced trolls and basilisks and bullying for five and a half years,' Malfoy began bleakly. 'How do you think you'll handle this one?'

Harry didn't want to have to answer the question, but he knew Malfoy expected an answer, possibly even relied on one. He looked at the ground and tried not to fret. The situation was beginning to dawn in its completeness, but he didn't yet regret letting the truth be known.

'They're just people,' he attempted.

'I used to think that when I tormented them,' Malfoy replied with acidity. 'When I tormented Granger, and Weasley. I was only a petty name-caller.'

'Then you'd prefer I let them attack you, and just stood in the shadows pretending I'm not involved?'

'_Yes!_' Malfoy exclaimed, rising to his feet and restlessly pacing to the water and back again, digging his shoes into the dirt. 'I'm ... there isn't a word for how I feel about being stupidly lucky enough to have you. I would have told everyone already if I didn't know there'll be consequences,' he insisted. 'You've gone through enough bad publicity and unpopularity. I don't want to be responsible for any more of it.'

Harry was once again stunned into silence by the outburst of Malfoy's feelings. Malfoy shut his mouth abruptly, turning around and facing the lake, fidgeting.

'I know,' Harry said. And on a level, he did. He had never liked huge amounts of attention, and that was exactly what they were both going to get. 'But I can't apologize for showing them the truth. It will probably be hell until school's over, and maybe even after that, but it was worse having to see everyone do that to you and not doing anything about it. At least this way ...'

'At least this way, what? You can protect me?' Malfoy spat. 'I'm not your damsel in distress. I was doing fine being hated for just being me. Now I'm not only _me_, but the Chosen One's bitch as well.'

'Who says they'll think you're my bitch?' Harry said, trying to divert Malfoy's furious energy into something less worrying. Passion, perhaps. 'Maybe they'll think I'm you're bitch.'

'I know the way this works, Harry,' Malfoy said desperately, bringing his hands down on Harry's shoulders. 'I was already doomed. You didn't have to be too.'

'Well it's not like we can obliviate them all or take back what's already been done,' Harry said, winding his fingers between Malfoy's and holding on stubbornly. 'Whatever they say or do, my feelings aren't changing.'

Malfoy eyed Harry with a mix of frustration and pity and lip-quivering adoration, before laughing with defeated.

'You Gryffindors,' he sighed, exasperated. 'You need to learn to _think_ before you act.'

Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy's shoulders and neck and let himself be lifted off the boulder. Malfoy's closed his eyes but didn't move in for a kiss. Instead he held Harry tightly around the middle, slowing his breathing and standing perfectly still, as though he were in a state of meditation. Then he opened his eyes, and Harry saw an immediate change. It hit him then that he had never before seen Malfoy with such a look of outright determination.

'You're going to meet my mother,' he said resolutely. Harry stiffened, and not in a good way.

'I'm going to _what _your _what_?' he hissed.

'Yes you sure are, but only after you meet my mother,' Malfoy said, winking. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he was torn between horror and pure bewilderment.

'_Why_?'

Malfoy pressed in for an annoyingly inescapable cuddle and Harry couldn't wriggle away, no matter how he struggled. He was not going to be dissolved into agreeing to such a ludicrous idea with a simple cuddle. He was Not. Never.

...

The pair decided to head back to the castle after the date was set for the summer holidays. Harry Potter was meeting Narcissa Malfoy, and whether it was a punishment or a thankyou, he had no idea. The Weasleys would either understand, or, worst case scenario, not want him in their house for the holidays anyway. As for the school day they currently faced, Harry and Malfoy had classes and couldn't skip just because they didn't want to face the music. On the slope between Hagrid's hut and the tall wooden front doors, Malfoy suddenly stopped. He looked up at the towers and turrets blankly, and Harry waited patiently for a little while as they both gazed at the school.

'I felt just like this a few months ago,' Malfoy said quietly. 'After telling Dumbledore about the mission I'd been given.'

Harry stepped forward, not bothering to look carefully to see if anyone was watching before he put his hand on Malfoy's waist.

'This year has been fucked up so far. I honestly can't see it getting that much worse for me, unless the Dark Lord finds another way into Hogwarts,' Malfoy said, by way of reply to Harry's gesture.

'Don't worry about me, then,' Harry insisted for what felt like the tenth time, and encouragingly hugged Malfoy's side. 'I take on trolls and dragons and that all the time, remember? I'm not going anywhere.'

Malfoy unbalanced Harry with a deft kick, and swooped down to rescue him with a bent knee and arms wrapped securely around his shoulders and waist. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy had just _dipped_ him, the most soppily romantic gesture known to man, before Malfoy's lips were on his and they were kissing again, both sweetly and hungrily. Harry uncomfortably rearranged his arms so they didn't hang uselessly, and all too soon, the soppily romantic kiss ended, and Malfoy was looking down at Harry with a bizarrely content smile.

'Why the sudden exhibitionism?' Harry whispered.

'It just occurred to me that this is probably the last time I'll be able to kiss you without freaking out about everyone else. What they think, whether they're watching. What they might do to either of us.'

Harry hadn't thought of that. Malfoy, whether because his arms were getting tired or because he thought the moment was past, began to lift Harry back into a standing position. Harry gripped Malfoy's shoulders and closed their lips together again, concentrating all the necessary feeling he could into the kiss, locking it like a door he may be able to open in the future if ever he needed to remember why he wasn't going to give up on Malfoy.

As if he could read his mind, Malfoy kissed back with his eyes closed and his arms encircling Harry's body, almost like a protective shield.

The first people they encountered, on the steps up to the entrance, were the last they had thought they would. Never mind the fact that they were sitting next to each other, and in a very involved conversation.

Neville looked up before Blaise Zabini finished his sentence, and barely had time to stop Harry who had taken out his wand and had it trained on Zabini's face.

'Wait, Harry! Just wait for a moment, it wasn't his fault,' Neville said hurriedly. Malfoy was looking between Neville and Zabini with a purely puzzled expression. 'May I ask?' he asked flatly.

'He wasn't actually threatening you when he threatened you the other day, he was only threatening Malfoy, only it wasn't a threat really, it was a warning, not from him, but from the girl, the nasty one who looks a bit like a pig,' Neville said, tripping over words in an effort to get them out all the more quickly. Zabini rolled his eyes and inhaled tiredly.

'What your eloquent friend here means to say,' Zabini began, as Neville blushed with embarrassment, 'is that I was trying to warn you about Pansy. She caught a glimpse of you,' he inclined his head to Malfoy, 'cuddling up to an obviously male body the other day, she just didn't realize that it was _you_,' he finished, indicating to Harry.

Harry was momentarily struck dumb, but Malfoy wasn't.

'How generous and caring of you,' he drawled, perfectly summoning his former acidic tone. 'I don't know how we possibly might have survived without your help.'

Harry wondered if that changed anything. It would only have been a rumour about Malfoy in that case, though even without Harry being involved in the rumour, Harry knew he couldn't have let Malfoy be thrown to the sharks.

'You know I can't have told you outright. It wouldn't have made a difference. And I have my own reputation to worry about, which, mind you, I'm risking just by sitting here. So if you don't mind ...'

'Who's side are we supposed to think you're on, Blaise?' Malfoy snapped. 'Drop the act. I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, it's not working.'

'Clearly,' Zabini responded with a growl.

'Wha ...' Neville tentatively attempted.

'I'm trying to apologise, you stupid red-and-gold git,' Zabini growled at Neville, who shrank back on his stair. He looked back at Malfoy and sniffed. 'Your sudden bout of good nature is contagious. I helped with the fire in the boy's dorm weeks ago, and it was a reckless and mindless thing to do. I abandoned you the second you abandoned the Dark Lord, which can only put me in a negative light in the eyes of the Ministry if any of this goes forward. I don't expect or want forgiveness, I just want to get rid of the guilt and move on with my self-centred life. Now if you don't mind,' he finished, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his chest, 'I have a class to get to.'

Zabini left the three behind to vanish into the hum of noise and movement inside the castle.

'That must be the nicest thing he's ever said to anyone,' Malfoy finally said in mild irritation and wonder. Harry, realizing he had been entirely silent up until now, checked his watch.

'We don't have that much time until class,' he said. 'I still need to get some things from my bag.'

'Right here,' Neville said, pushing Harry's bag forward on the steps. He shifted in discomfort under the surprised eyes of both boys.

'What? I knew you'd probably be a little while, sorting things out and whatever, so I took the liberty.'

'Thanks, Neville,' Harry said sincerely. Malfoy raised his eyebrows and sighed. 'Gryffindors.'


	10. Swapping Perceptions

**.NB.**

'Hello.'

'Oh ... hello.'

Neville had gotten tired of cursing his luck lately, but he couldn't resist the impulse when he saw Blaise Zabini sitting in the library and studying, right at the table Neville liked to use. Making a sudden exit would seem cowardly, and he had learned enough from Harry and the other brave Gryffindors to know that appearing afraid to people who might hurt you was a very unintelligent thing to do. Also, he liked sitting at that table when he was in the library. And he wasn't going to change his habits for any Slytherin, even if they were a bit less Slytherin-y than other Slytherins.

'Herbology assignment?' Neville asked, settling in the seat he was used to using, which happened to be right across from where Blaise sat. Barely looking up, Blaise nodded once and continued to inspect the roll of parchment before him.

'Me too,' Neville said, trying to sound casual, but probably sounding far too on-edge. He took the first book on top of the pile he had brought to the table, and opened it at chapter 2- Wonderful Weeds and their Many, Many, Many, Many, Many Uses. Immersing himself in the book, Neville resigned himself to total silence.

A bored, irritated sigh son lifted Neville from his semi-reverie (reveries were typical to him when he was learning more about his favourite subject).

'Listen, Longbottom. The only reason I spoke with you the other day was because of Malfoy, who I am only trying to save from himself because the man deserves a little pity. My opinion of Gryffindors has not changed. My opinion of you has not changed. We are not friends. We. Are. Not. Even. Acquaintances. As far as this school knows, I do not even know you.'

Neville felt a flush of humiliation. He was used to getting blown back when trying to be friendly with people, and being the house dork helped him grow accustomed to rejection. But this was just ridiculous. And it was a Slytherin. And this was _his table_!

'Well I'm sorry if you don't know how to be friendly, but don't flatter yourself. I'm here to do my homework. If I wanted to make a new friend ... let's just say I have better taste.'

Blaise's eyebrows had risen and his dark eyes were fixed on Neville's face. His body and head remained totally still. The single gesture conveyed such a wealth of reaction that Neville's mouth snapped shut and in his mind, he instantly told himself off. _This_ was why he didn't snap at people. How hard would it be to just walk away, really? It's only a stupid table. And Blaise is hugely better at magic than he was. He was going to get himself hexed into next week.

Just as Neville was mentally preparing himself to get his things together and leave, Blaise's lips curved into a smile, and he looked back down at his parchment.

'Alright, Longbottom. All - right.'

Neville wondered exactly what "alright" meant in this context, and whether he should make a break for it. Blaise did not move or say another word. Taking his chances, Neville remained where he was, and went back to reading hid book. He could have sworn, over the following hour and a half, he felt a pair of eyes on him. But he never quite caught Blaise looking.

**.HD.**

Classes were a tense mass of being unable to ignore every comment, every stare, every look and every near-confrontation as neither Harry nor Malfoy made any effort to hide their closeness. They didn't hold hands walking to or from class, and they didn't kiss or hug, but it was because they didn't need to. But they voluntarily sat together, and with each class Harry listed in his head the people who directly avoided sitting with him, noting with melancholy that Ron was at the top of that list, followed closely, to his surprise and disappointment, Hermione. She looked more confused and put off than anything else, and gave herself plenty of space from Harry and Malfoy, and also Ron, who sat with Dean and Seamus barely looking Harry's way at all.

Luna, Ginny and Neville seemed to be the only students who were being so much as vaguely friendly to either of them. In Luna's case she may as well not have noticed the kiss in the Great Hall, though she mentioned it during break as if it were as natural as commenting on the flowers. Ginny adamantly slandered every Slytherin who had dared speak about the relationship, and was on a roll, having hexed at least a fifth of the population of Slytherin house and some in Ravenclaw and even Hufflepuff before lunch. Neville meekly but bravely sat with Harry and Malfoy in classes, much to Harry's admiration and appreciation and Malfoy's disbelief and slight annoyance.

'To tell you the truth, I was looking forward to having you all to myself,' Malfoy commented, as Neville sat perfectly within earshot after classes out on the Astronomy tower. Harry batted him across the knees, and Ginny made a loud "awww" as she dumped herself pointedly beside them, bag, sandwich and all, and got out her homework.

'The Gryffindor common room is no more a place for Potter-Malfoy sympathizers than it is for you, so quit complaining,' she said, twirling her wand in her hand as she opened her potions textbook on her lap.

'Well thank you for your assistance, but I don't recall inviting you ...'

'_I_ did,' Harry cut in, returning Malfoy's stubborn expression. 'There's no need for you to argue.'

'I don't need friends, Harry, I got along perfectly fine without them for years,' Malfoy said, standing and making his way down the stairs without another word. Harry made to get up and follow, but hesitated. Malfoy was being unfair and he knew it. Why he was being unfair was a mystery, but that was something they could discuss in private. Neville was practically squirming with discomfort as Ginny sat calmly studying as if nothing at all had happened.

'He gets huffy sometimes,' Harry said, in an effort to calm Neville down.

'Maybe I'll go to the dormitory and do my homework on my bed,' Neville said. Harry let him go, and sat silently across from Ginny wondering if he had gotten his hopes up about his friends too soon.

'Boys,' Ginny sighed, and clicked her tongue in that Mrs Weasley way again. 'Malfoy's just probably feeling under pressure, and you know how awkward Neville gets. They'll get over it.'

Harry was overcome with an urge to hug Ginny, but settled for an honest "thankyou", and did what he could to help her with her potions homework. He had done most of it before, and the feeling of knowing even a tiny bit more about something, being able to help someone again, gave him a tiny, but worthwhile, measure of comfort.

**.NB.**

'Actually, some bonsai trees do have some magical properties, just not all of them,' Neville said, as he packed away his bag and books. Zabini cocked his head to the side and gave Neville a silent look.

'Really,' Neville insisted. 'They don't have to be grown a certain way, or using certain potions or anything. Sometimes seeds just grow into these unique properties, and you know what? Every clipping taken from that plant, and any clipping from those clippings after they grow, and every generation after that, will have just as much magical power as the tree you took it from.'

'It doesn't count if the magic occurs randomly, and not throughout the whole species,' Zabini said simply.

'Think of it the same way as you'd think of magic ... although I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference to you,' Neville said, not wanting to changing tack. 'The thing is, a muggle-born is as much a witch or wizard or any pureblood, at least that's what I think. And bonsai trees are the same. If it has magical properties, then it's a magical plant.'

'Philosophically speaking, you're still a klutz, Longbottom. But I confess, your herbology makes up for everything else well enough.'

It was the nicest compliment Neville had received from anyone besides Professor Sprout. Not even his own grandmother had said anything so kind that he could remember. It threw him for a moment as Zabini started packing away his own books, and when he realized that both he and Zabini were packed away with their books stacked and Zabini still hadn't moved, Neville realized that Zabini was waiting for him.

'Ah ... Thanks,' he said, grasping for something to say. 'You're pretty good on agriculture yourself.'

Zabini chuckled, and picked up his books. 'The library's closing. Maybe we'll continue this conversation next time we're alone, and no-one can see me talking to you.'

With that, Zabini was on his way out the door, and Neville was left staring after him in total, absolute shock.

**.HD.**

Malfoy did not apologize for over a week. He kept muttering complaints whenever he was subjected to hanging out with any of the only three people who were making a point of remaining friends with Harry, but he didn't storm off again. Harry tried to look on the bright side and feel glad he still had any friends at all, let alone that he was loved by someone impossible. Malfoy had familiarized himself with everything that was wrong with Harry in the past, and somehow along the way had managed to develop such a devotion to him that he was willing to directly go against Voldemort's and his own father's orders before he so much as got on friendly terms. After being surrounded by idols who only loved him for something he couldn't even personally remember, Harry didn't know how to describe how it felt to be loved by someone who didn't give a shit about his scar or his fame.

'Why do you have such a problem with them? They've accepted you as a part of my life, and you can't deny that's pretty impressive, given everything.'

Malfoy said nothing. They were sitting by the lake in the same spot they had sought refuge in directly after the moment in the Great Hall where Harry had let the Slytherins know exactly how "alone" Malfoy was.

'I just want to know,' Harry implored. He knew that talking wasn't fun for Malfoy, but this problem was an exception, and one he wanted to sort out as soon as possible so they could get it over and done with and get back to either talking Quidditch, or, and it was in the back of his mind, getting beyond second base. He wasn't a crass guy by nature, but it had increasingly been present in his dreams and imagination, and he liked the idea of doing it in real life.

'I don't expect you to give up your friends for me,' Malfoy muttered. 'Know that. I did mean it when I said I hoped to have you all to myself for a while, that's all.' He paused, then continued, and Harry listened quietly.

'Having your friends there only makes me feel like I have that much further to go. I just want to be alone with you for a while. But I don't want you to feel alone. So if you spend time with them, that's fine. Just don't expect me to pretend I don't feel out-of-place when they're around.'

At a loss for words, Harry gave Malfoy the most understanding look he could, and leaned into him with casual affection. The conversation was peacefully ended as Malfoy let his cheek rest on Harry's hair, and they sat in comfortable silence watching the water lap lazily at the rocks.

The peace did not last for long, though. The telltale sound of laughing and excited jeering reached Harry. He looked over Malfoy's shoulder to see a small crowd of Slytherins, headed (unsurprisingly) by Pansy. Since Malfoy had taken leave of the position of Head Bitch-Face of Slytherin House, Pansy had willingly taken it up, and played the role with eager aplomb.

'Oh look,' she said, bounding up like a dog that had found a wounded bird. Malfoy tsked and prepared to stand.

'No need to stand on my account, gents,' Pansy said sweetly, as her friends pooled at her sides. Harry noted that Zabini was not among them. 'After all, I'm sure after all that buggering you're pretty sore.'

'You'd know the feeling, Pansy,' Malfoy said absent-mindedly. 'I hear you're quite the ... _popular_ girl, these days.'

'Watch your mouth, ass-pirate,' Pansy said, dropping the pretend-cutesy voice. 'You're not at the top of the food chain anymore.'

'You sound like a 60's comic book villain,' Malfoy replied. 'I even did a better job of being an asshole than you. You really suck, Pansy, and I don't mean it in a good way.'

Harry had prepared himself to stand and walk away, but he couldn't deny that he was a little entertained by the banter-show unfurling before him. Pansy's friends were sneering at every word Malfoy said, but the occasional small smile betrayed what they were really thinking. _Slytherin's really lost a great wit, even if he's only good for insults_, Harry thought with a complete lack of wistfulness.

Unexpectedly, Zabini made his entrance and looked with feigned disinterest between Malfoy and Harry on the rocks and Pansy and her friends shooting up comments and name-calling.

'I didn't think you'd sink so low as to stand the company of blood traitors and perverts,' he said offhand to Pansy, and she snapped up the opportunity to make her exit and nurse her wounded pride.

'You're right, Blaise,' she sighed. 'I don't know what I was thinking. Fruit-cakes like that aren't worth talking to.' She tossed her hair and swaggered off with her small crowd, as though expecting the two boys to feel rejected by her sudden lack of interest in them.

'How valiant of you,' Malfoy said, as soon as the enemy was out of sight. Zabini crossed his arms.

'I repeat. I'm not doing this for applause.'

'No, of course. You're doing it because you feel guilty and expect nothing in return. Honestly, Blaise, what am I more likely to believe?' Malfoy scowled. Harry looked with unmasked surprise at Malfoy. Malfoy hadn't sounded this pissed off when he'd stormed off a week ago, but the look he gave Zabini was murderous.

'Thanks for helping,' Harry said, before Malfoy said anything more. Zabini shrugged.

...

The Gryffindor common room wasn't a welcoming place toward Harry these days. He suspected it was less to do with the fact that he was gay, and more to do with the fact that he was with Malfoy. Even those who had looked on with distaste as Malfoy was ridiculed by his housemates now gave Harry similar treatment. Boys covered their rears and ran to the other end of the room, and girls would loudly reassure them that Potter only went in for pureblood-supremacist Death Eaters. Others would gently disapprove, ignoring Harry's presence or being politely unkind. Having Ginny in the room helped Harry's chances of being left alone, but she wasn't there all the time, and less than half the house was as careful around Neville, despite Neville's vigilance in staying by Harry's side no matter who said or did what.

Sleeping in the same room as Ron, Seamus and Dean had become near-unbearable, and Neville helped with that in no way whatsoever. Ron acted as though Harry didn't exist anymore. Hurtful as it was, Harry didn't let it show. Much as he missed Ron's loyal friendship, he didn't want Ron thinking for a moment that he couldn't get by without him.

Hermione, on the other hand, spasmodically responded to Harry's quiet, despondent self-respect differently. Sometimes she would sit within a few feet of him at lunch, and send him a quick, tentative half-smile, and other times she would avoid him altogether, particularly when Malfoy was in the room. Somehow, Harry was mildly more bothered by her unpredictable behaviour. At least Ron was consistent in his avoidance.

Sitting alone in the common room late one night after being unable to sleep, Harry saw Hermione descend the stairs slowly and come to a halt when she saw him. Without a word, Harry stood and started for the staircase to the boy's dorm. He didn't want to have to see her turn around and leave again. He had had enough of the treatment that day and was more willing to lay wide awake in bed than deal with that again. He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on the back of his old flannel pyjama shirt, and turned to see her standing with her hand outstretched, other hand clutching a book to her chest, eyes unsure and wide with concern. He hesitated, then went back to the couch, and Hermione went with him. At first they sat beside each other in utter silence, neither one willing to start the inevitable conversation.

Hermione flung her arms around Harry's neck, and the apologies came thick and fast for a solid minute or two, Harry patting her back with bewildered, tired relief.

Sitting back and wiping her eyes and nose on a conjured hankerchief, Hermione choked out a laugh to try and ease the tension before looking frankly at Harry and asking the question no Gryffindor had managed to ask, and all of them wanted the answer to.

'Why Malfoy?'

Harry fought the urge to shrug or joke. Hermione, at the very least, of all people, deserved some sort of answer.

'I don't really know. It just sort of happened,' Harry said. 'I found out ... alright, remember the night the Slytherin dormitories were set on fire?'

For the first time, Harry described in detail out loud exactly how he came to develop feelings for the last person on Earth it made sense to develop feelings for. It was almost satisfying to say it out loud, and when he finished, Hermione made a brief attempt to say something, then gave up and stared solidly at Harry.

'Harry ... I don't know what to say. It makes no sense. I mean, _Malfoy_ ...' she trailed off and shook her head. 'I don't know what you think you're doing. But honestly, if he loves you enough to defy Voldemort, and you love him enough to willingly throw yourself to the proverbial sharks in defence of his honour, then you have a right to be together.'

It was Harry's turn to be speechless. Hermione smiled weakly, and so did he. And just like that, the world was a tiny bit less bleak.


	11. I Think I Want This

**Author's Note**: Borderline non-con and mild foodplay. Nothing major, just playing around with a little fruit. And no, that does not mean Harry and Malfoy have a threesome with Colin Creevey.*

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They used the marauder's map to find an empty classroom in which to spend the first Saturday since "coming out". Harry and Malfoy bickered through hallways, carrying a bag of cakes and nibbles they had gotten from the kitchens. Harry's friendship with the elves had tickled Malfoy, and given him an endless source of ammunition for jokes about "Harry Potter, not only the People's Hero, but the House-Elves' Hero, the Scullery Maid's Hero, the Butler's Hero ..."

'I refuse to believe you can't get along with anybody but me,' Harry said, and Malfoy scoffed.

'No-one has a bum as sexy as yours,' he responded, and pinched it to make a point. 'Besides, none of your friends qualify for me.'

'Why not?' Harry challenged. 'I put up with your godfather, who hates me by the way, _and_ you're making me stay at your mum's for the holidays.'

'Firstly, house-elves are poor conversational companions and the only fun you can have with them involves cruel games that merciful things like yourself don't approve of. Secondly, and _don't look at me like that_, Zabini is a veloceraptor. Thirdly, your fag hags ...'

'Don't call them that.'

'... are _your_ fag hags. The only thing me and them have in common is _you._'

'You've barely even tried to get along with them.'

'I can't resist the temptation to torment Longbottom, the Witless Wonder ...'

'Those are still my friends you're talking about.'

'And quite frankly, Weaslette scares me. And Granger took her bloody time to get over it. Plus Loony's name suits her too well. As a matter of fact, you have too many gal pals.'

'Is it really so difficult to make an effort? For me?' Harry felt slightly ashamed even as he said it. He very rarely resorted to puppy-dog eyes, and it very rarely worked.

'Of all the things you could ask me to do for you, Potter,' Malfoy sighed, opening the door to the empty classroom and sitting on the teacher's desk. 'Of all the things. You could ask me to perform a striptease for you and I'd do that sooner than make an effort to get along with your mates.'

'Really?' Harry asked teasingly, taking out a container of fruit. Malfoy's eyes glinted for a second, and he reclined back on the desk with his legs spread and his hands braced behind him.

'I'm better at showing myself off than I am at getting along with Gryffindors. That having been said, I do have an exhibitionistic streak.'

Taking a chance on a flash of inspiration, Harry picked a strawberry. Holding it by the stem, he took the very tip between his lips. Malfoy's eyes were locked on Harry's in an instant, his face frozen in captivation as Harry dragged his tongue from the white part to the tip, before sucking the whole strawberry into his mouth. He could almost see Malfoy's thighs tense. The influence he had over his lovers' body suddenly became glaringly obvious. He didn't even have to _touch_ Malfoy to turn him on. He took out another strawberry before offering the container to Malfoy.

'Keep doing that, and you can have the whole damn box,' Malfoy said plainly. Harry felt himself blush, and looked down at the strawberry in his hand.

'Don't tell me you're modest, Harry,' Malfoy said breathlessly. 'After that little display?'

'I've never actually done this sort of thing before,' Harry admitted, rolling the strawberry in his palm. He heard Malfoy stand, but didn't look up until Malfoy sat down close enough to hold Harry's waist between his knees and scoot his bum forward until there was barely enough room between them.

'Then let's share those, and I'll teach you something,' Malfoy breathed, and coaxed the strawberry in Harry's hand to his own lips. Harry knew why Malfoy couldn't tear his eyes away the moment he drew the strawberry halfway between his top lip and his tongue. It was all he could do not to imagine what it would feel like to have Malfoy doing that to something else.

Harry leant forward and stole the other end of the strawberry, kissing Malfoy gently in the process.

'We should have more picnics,' Malfoy said, and picked up another strawberry. Then, without warning, he lay back and started unbuttoning his black shirt.

Still sitting between Malfoy's legs, which were bent at the knees and feet flat on the floor either side of Harry's hips, Harry felt mingled nerves and excitement. Malfoy opened his shirt, baring his pale, slender torso and unashamedly sparse muscle development. Teasingly, he placed the strawberry in his navel, and stretched his arms up before crossing them behind his head.

Harry cursed Malfoy's creativity. How was he supposed to know where this was going when Malfoy was so unpredictable? He knelt forward anyway, knowing he had to do something, and licked a trail from the belt to the strawberry sitting in his bellybutton. Unable to resist, He tickled Malfoy's navel as he drew the fruit into his mouth, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth (resulting in a fascinatingly sharp intake of breath) and kissing a trail up to Malfoy's chest as he chewed. Fumbling around for another strawberry, Harry ended up holding a thumb-sized piece of pineapple. He was torn between a desire to just fuck around and see what worked, and a fear that he would do something stupid and Malfoy would laugh. Part of him knew that Malfoy was far more likely to laugh at indecision, so he took the chance, and touched the corner of the pineapple chunk to Malfoy's left nipple.

Judging from the surprised gasp and suppressed arch of Malfoy's spine, Harry figured he had done something right.

Kissing Malfoy's nipple, Harry traced lazy circles with his tongue and copied the movements with the chunk of fruit, before swapping the pineapple and his mouth to the opposite nipples and smiling at the taste left by the cold, sweet tropical fruit. He was tempted to believe that Malfoy's reactions were faked, at least given how strong they seemed. A few seconds in to having his chest attended to, Malfoy had descended into total wordlessness, only letting loose the occasional breathy moan when Harry used his teeth or sucked firmly, and twitching as his chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Finally putting the pineapple in his mouth and licking the juice off Malfoy's erect nipple, Harry took a look at Malfoy's face, and pleasure raced through him as he took in the flushed cheeks, open mouth and closed eyes, and beautifully dishevelled hair where Malfoy had been tugging at it.

'I had no idea you liked pineapple so much,' Harry said quietly. Malfoy chuckled, and the chuckle had a feral edge. He opened his eyes just as Harry shimmied further up his body to look directly at his face, still laying between his legs.

'Your turn to take off your shirt,' Malfoy said. Without question, Harry placed his knees at either side of Malfoy's waist and knelt over him as he shrugged off his jacket and pulled his t-shirt over his head, disrupting his glasses in the process. Malfoy propped himself up on his elbows and watched with lidded eyes as Harry sat down on his lap, careful not to put too much weight below his belt. He wasn't overly self-conscious, but Harry had not been completely shirtless in front of Malfoy before, and watched half-tense as the darkened greyish eyes raked up his body, from his denim-clad legs to his collarbone, up his neck and to his face and messy black hair.

'Yep,' Malfoy said, popping the "p" and licking his lips. 'I'm definitely lucky.'

Harry laughed and flinched as Malfoy reached out and gently pinched his nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Sitting up, Malfoy forced Harry to rock into his lap and hang onto Malfoy so he didn't fall backwards. Harry shivered as Malfoy's hand continued to explore his chest, alternately pinching and rubbing his skin until he reached Harry's belt, and began to undo it without further hesitation.

Anticipation flooded through Harry's veins, setting every nerve alight before Malfoy had him totally naked. There was nothing stopping them now.

'Merlin, there's no-one alive who can say Quidditch hasn't served you well,' Malfoy said, as he dwelled over Harry's thighs, kissing and licking them, deliberately avoiding the place where his attention was most desperately wanted.

Harry wondered why he had ever been afraid. Surrendering his body to Malfoy was the easiest thing he had done in years.

He felt a hot breath ghost over his dick and his legs tensed and became restless in frustrated anticipation of what was about to happen. What was _finally_ About to Happen.

The universe screeched to a halt as the door swung open, and the terrible sound of ceased footsteps hit Harry like a brick to the balls. Malfoy stopped what he was doing instantly, and Harry sat bolt upright, almost head-butting Malfoy's nose in the process.

A white-faced, frozen Flitwick, stood in the doorway, all three foot four of him, mouth opening and closing and collapsible stool fallen to the floor.

'We're busy,' Malfoy finally said, and it sounded more like a warning than an indication. Flitwick looked quickly at the desk, then back at the boys.

'Eh-hem ... I have something I need to ... left it on ... I'll be right out of your hair in a moment ...' he stammered, quickly gathering up the stool and racing to the desk. Harry didn't think he'd wilted so fast in his entire life. He covered his face with his hands, drawing up his legs in a desperate bid to hide what the professor had already seen.

Flitwick was out of the room with a quill-box in his little red fist faster than he'd arrived, and Malfoy resumed nuzzling Harry's inner thigh like nothing at all had happened.

'The moment's gone,' Harry said, and he despaired to know it was true. Flitwick's face was still too fresh in his mind for him to be able to enjoy Malfoy's attention again just yet.

'It absolutely is not,' Malfoy said, persistently abusing Harry's abdomen. 'We just lost it for a little while.'

'Another time, Draco,' Harry whined, trying to wriggle out of Malfoy's grasp. 'Preferably in a more secluded place.'

Malfoy groaned in annoyance. 'But I want you _right now_,' he complained petulantly. 'I'm not used to being denied anything. My willpower will crumble and I'll end up jumping you in the middle of the corridor if you do this to me. What are the chances that will happen twice in the same day? Really?'

Harry pushed away Malfoy's head and hurried to get his pants back up. Despite the horribleness of the situation, he couldn't help but laugh as Malfoy took the crotch of Harry's pants in his teeth and tried to yank them back down again.

'Draco! _Stop it_!' Harry said, seriousness breaking under the hilarity of the moment as Malfoy ripped his pants down his legs and throw them to the other end of the classroom. Harry managed to salvage his underwear, but only in time to give Malfoy the opportunity to produce his wand from the pocket of his own unzipped jeans. Malfoy cast a wordless charm, and Harry's wrists were suddenly invisibly stuck above his head and his hips were pinned in place, barely lifted off the floor. He tried to kick Malfoy's wand from his hand, but his feet were glued to the floor as well, just far enough apart that he couldn't manoeuvre his knees enough to do any damage to Malfoy with them.

'I mean it, Draco,' Harry said, the authority drained from his voice by his position. Malfoy's breathing was heavy enough that Harry could feel it on his midriff. He looked devilishly sexy with his hair messed up, a light sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and shoulders, his lips parted and his eyes darkened with desire.

'Forgive me,' Malfoy said, and his voice was huskier than Harry had ever heard it, 'but I can't stop. It might not exactly be the perfect moment any more, but don't worry ... you're going to enjoy this even if I have to use a hex to make you cum.'

Lowering his head and ignoring Harry's protests, Malfoy mouthed the growing bulge in Harry's briefs, massaging it with his tongue and even scraping his teeth very gently along the shaft. Harry was walking a fine line between surrendering with a complete lack of dignity, and turning Malfoy off his goal by wailing loudly to alert any possible passers-by. As if he could read Harry's mind, Malfoy said:

'I cast a silencing charm on the door and walls. We aren't getting interrupted again, so don't even try it.'

Sliding his hands up the backs of Harry thighs and under the material of his briefs, Malfoy gave Harry's arse a daring squeeze before pulling his underwear down almost to his knees, and vanishing them completely with his want. Harry let his head drop back. If he watched Malfoy now, he was never going to be able to fight the urge to let him do whatever he damn well wanted.

'You're not really going to force this on me, are you?' Harry asked, desperation filling his voice as he threw in his last-ditch attempt at composure.

It didn't hit Harry that Malfoy had stopped until a few seconds passed without further molestation. Experimentally, Harry wiggled his elbow, and realized that his arms were free. Pulling his knees together, he felt the binding charm on his lower half was lifted as well. He sat up and felt the blood rush to his head.

He looked at Malfoy, who had retreated until the forgotten bag of food was between them. The expression on his face was nearly unreadable. It seemed so sudden and out-of-place, given what they had just been doing. It almost seemed wrong. Harry looked behind himself at the door briefly, just in case someone had walked in again, and saw that they were still alone. Malfoy's expression didn't change, but he was looking at the floor instead when Harry looked back. Abruptly, he stood and went to the other end of the classroom and picked up Harry's trousers. When he returned he handed them to Harry wordlessly.

Harry didn't know whether "thankyou" was appropriate. The air had become impossibly tense. It was difficult to believe that, barely a minute ago, he was about to have a blow job.

'Are you okay?' he said instead, and nearly shivered when Malfoy's eyes met his. They had gone from dark and lusty to wide pastel blue and his lips were no longer parted. He received no reply, until Malfoy had picked up and started buttoning his own shirt.

'Sorry,' Malfoy said, and his tone may have sounded clipped, if it wasn't for the slight shakiness of his breath.

'It's okay,' Harry said uneasily. It had all gone pear-shaped. He hadn't really been so tough on Malfoy, had he? It wasn't as though he didn't want him at all, the mood had just been shattered by Flitwick's arrival, that was all. He ran through reasons in his mind that Malfoy might suddenly be so ... that was the problem, Harry supposed. He couldn't tell how Malfoy was feeling, but it was obviously a strong feeling, and that made it all the more unnerving. They dressed in silence, barely touching except t hand each other items of clothing. When Malfoy finally pulled on his black jacket, Harry asked,

'Why did you stop?'

Malfoy glanced at him as he bent to pick up the bag of treats and jammed his other hand in his pocket.

'You asked.'

'That didn't work the first ten times,' Harry pointed out. Malfoy shrugged, and Harry noted a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

'Why really?' Harry asked, stepping forward and taking a strawberry from the half-open container sitting on top of the wrapped pasties. Malfoy's fruit kink would surely come in handy in cheering him up, wouldn't it? Harry curled his tongue under the strawberry and pressed it to his top lip, but Malfoy only looked away sharply and cleared his throat.

'Next time, maybe,' he said, but the attempt to sound light-heartedly seductive was dimmed considerably by the remaining shakiness of his breathing. Harry took his arm as they left the room and offered him the other half of the strawberry. Hesitantly, Malfoy took it, and the intent stare he gave Harry with his wide open eyes as she gently bit the end off the fruit sticking out from between Harry's lips gave him goosebumps.

'I love you,' he whispered, and kissed Harry lightly before pulling away and walking quickly down the corridor in the direction of the dungeons.

Confused and deeply unsettled, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower, leaving the food for the few pet cats. His appetite was gone, along with a small part of the safety he had felt that, no matter what, the passion between Draco and himself could not be touched.

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*- dear God. I am so sorry. (dies)


	12. Too Many Questions

**.HD.**

It was four weeks until the holidays and Harry was nervous. It had been several days since the incident in the charms classroom and Malfoy had been weirdly distant since. He had maintained his aloof arrogance and subtle affection, but the heat Harry remembered from the touches in the past had been tamed, reeled in even, as though Malfoy was keeping himself at a distance, on a leash, even. Nothing had been said about the visit to Malfoy Manor, despite the day being so close, and Harry was beginning to wonder if it was still on.

Malfoy had said nothing of an explanatory nature, and Harry had been regularly thinking back on the moment in an effort to figure out what may have happened. He hadn't kicked Malfoy anywhere painful, nor did he believe he had said anything hurtful. And with Malfoy being uncooperatively quiet about the whole thing, Harry was getting more and more nervous.

'Stop brushing it off,' he demanded, cornering Malfoy one Monday. There was half an hour between classes, and the weekend had been wasted on homework and disappointingly tame kissing sessions, where the most Harry was getting was an unfinished grope or two. Malfoy wasn't even indulging in nuzzling into Harry's neck any more, and Harry had gotten used to having his neck attacked. He missed it. 'Something happened, and until you tell me what it is, I'm not letting up.'

'Nothing happened,' Malfoy insisted between gritted teeth. 'Now drop it.'

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, inching his glasses down in the process. 'That's what I'm talking about,' he said, losing patience. 'Nothing is happening. You won't even pinch me or bite my ear or ... you know ... dammit, Draco, I want you,' Harry confessed. 'But we've barely done anything in days. I just want to know why.'

It was Malfoy's turn to look exasperated. 'Harry, please,' he implored, 'take a hint. I don't want to talk about it.'

They didn't talk for the rest of the day.

If this was a regular fight with Ron, Harry would feel irritated. He would wait for Ron to apologize, and sulk in the meantime. But this was his first serious situation with Malfoy, and he didn't know how to feel. He was irrationally worried. He was hurt that Malfoy was hiding something from him. He was also almost as confused as he had been when he first realized he had feelings for his long-term enemy. Confused with the intensity of his own feelings, and with Malfoy and his secrecy and sudden chastity. Most of all, he just wished things were the way they were seconds before Malfoy spelled Harry to the floor, so he could see that totally unrestrained, sensual, adoring look on his lover's face again.

**.NB.**

'No, you see, this is where practical knowledge comes in handy,' Neville said frankly. 'If you train a tree into a certain shape, ah, take a cherry tree for instance ...' he said, pulling an imaginary branch down until it was horizontal, 'it'll bear more fruit.'

'And how is that supposed to work?' Blaise asked, crossing his arms.

'Sap flow,' Neville said simply, as though it were obvious.

Blaise had never had much of an interest in anything that required work or enthusiasm unless it was fascinatingly immoral, but Neville's passion for gardening was tragically contagious, and if nothing else, he was some fun to watch. And his advice, regrettably, was the reason Blaise was getting better marks in Herbology (not that he was at liberty to admit it, due to his honour. A Slytherin taking advice from a Gryffinder, peh ...)

'No, you see, you don't want to place these next to the mandrakes,' Neville said with a sense of urgency, taking Blaise's blueprints straight from his hands. 'They're shallow-rooted. If they have to compete with a sentient plant for water or nutrients, they'd never survive into maturity.'

Blaise and Neville had been dumped with the same assignment, and since they had been spending an almost peculiar amount of time in the library together, they had been bouncing ideas off each other. Being sixth year Herbology students, they were both expected to be able to design a greenhouse layout that would be both productive and practical, and Neville had leapt into the assignment with delight, while Blaise had trudged through the work, dragging his feet where possible and taking the easy route and forsaking his pride for long enough to let Neville do as much of the real work as possible without calling it "help".

'On that note, you could put them next to those trees I was talking about before, because their roots don't start spreading outward until they're about seven or eight inches down, so the plants wouldn't interfere with each other,' Neville mused aloud, tapping the ink-stained end of his quill against his lower lip absently, staring at Blaise's already repeatedly-revised blueprints.

Blaise sighed and gazed out the window. He should be irritated by now. The fact that he wasn't disturbed him. Neville was irritating. Wasn't he? He was useful, on the other hand. But usefulness was no substitute for sophistication or class. Blaise sighed again.

'Something wrong?' Neville asked, pausing in his mumbled litany on root depth and situational vs. environmental factors on the lifespan of snapper plants.

'Not quite,' Blaise said. At a loss for anything else to say, he offered, 'I'll pay you to do my assignment for me.'

Neville appeared aghast, Merlin only knew why. 'How could I? This is a test of theoretical knowledge and ability to implement it. Besides, Professor Sprout is too familiar with my work. She'd know, and we'd both get in trouble.'

'Were you always such a kissass, Longbottom?' Blaise asked conversationally, by way of reply. Neville got up, handed Blaise his blueprint, and wandered off in a huff after a curt "good afternoon".

Blaise tried not to feel the tiniest bit mean.

**.HD.**

'Are you bored with me?' Harry asked. It was three weeks until the holidays. Malfoy's face shot up from the book it had been buried in.

'What? No. Don't be stupid.'

'I just want to know why you're keeping me at arm's length,' Harry muttered. Within the past week and few days, the steady stream of kisses and nuzzling and hanky-panky had all but run dry. Malfoy wasn't just being too tame anymore. He was barely touching Harry at all. Harry had given him ample opportunity. He had engineered circumstances so the pair of them could be alone together at least twice a week, for hours at a time. Sometimes they just worked on their homework together, occasionally distracting each other with light taunting or a hand on a knee or nosy input and constructive criticism. But the kissing/light petting sessions that lasted up to half an hour at a time were becoming a thing of the past. It was as though Malfoy was completely shutting off. Like his interest in Harry's body had dissipated.

'What makes you think I'm bored with you?' Malfoy asked. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the Room of Requirement on a rug in front of the fire. The Room seemed to agree with Harry's intentions, and the same bed that had appeared when Harry first said "I love you" was pointedly placed in the middle of the circular room, a bedside table placed beside it with a suspicious looking velvet bag. Malfoy had made a beeline for the armchair by the fire instead.

'I'll just point to the empty bed, shall I?' Harry hinted heavily.

'What about the empty bed?' Malfoy challenged.

'We're not in it.'

'Maybe I don't need constant foreplay in order to be happy in a relationship.'

'Don't use that on me. You used to touch me every chance you got.'

'Yeah, well. Now I'm not.'

'Why?'

'You sound very needy right now.'

Harry growled in frustration. 'Do you understand at all what I'm getting at?'

'Not really, no,' Malfoy retorted. 'Unless what you mean is that you can't enjoy my company unless you're getting off on it.'

Harry snapped. 'I was _willing_ to leave it if you'd just tell me why you suddenly got all cold and stopped getting randy every time we're alone. How would you feel if I suddenly stopped being handsy and was obviously hiding something from you at the same time?'

The silence following the words spoken out loud made a light bulb go off in Harry's head. Hermione had mentioned something like this once before, when making an observation about Lavender's boy-hopping tendencies. It was a well-known signal to her boyfriends, both ex and present.

What if the reason Malfoy no longer needed to touch Harry all the time, was because he was getting his rocks off somewhere else?

'Alright. So you want more physical affection,' Malfoy said, with some small difficulty. 'Then show more physical affection. I don't want to feel like I'm doing all the work. I was just ... giving you opportunities to initiate. Giving you space to pick and choose when we get touchy.'

'Bullshit,' Harry spat. Malfoy had the good grace to look taken aback before narrowing his eyes.

'Then by all means, tell me what I can do to shut you up,' Malfoy growled.

'You know exactly what,' Harry said, grasping the front of Malfoy's school shirt and dragging him out of his armchair. Their bodies clashed together and Harry was overcome with the unexpected heat of Malfoy's lips and clothes, moreso by the sudden ferocity with which Malfoy tore Harry's shirt open (literally – buttons went flying) and latched onto his neck as his hands roamed greedily all over his lover's torso. He kept Harry pinned to him as he wrenched the sleeves down Harry's wiry arms, whipped his tie off his neck and backed him into the wall before sinking to his knees, nipping viciously at the exposed skin bared before him. Taken by surprise, Harry surrendered completely, and found a familiar nervous anticipation take over as Malfoy's hands deftly dealt with the buckle of his belt, mouth abusing and bruising the tip of a hipbone exposed above Harry's jeans.

Harry let his head fall back onto the wall, and stroked Malfoy's head as he let the blonde force his legs further apart with his knees.

There was a break in the unexpectedly aggressive administrations, and Harry felt his spirits sink a little before he braved a look down at his lover. A depressingly familiar expression was present on Malfoy's face as he rose to his feet and fingered the beltline of Harry's jeans.

'Not like this,' Malfoy said quietly. 'I know you want it, but not ... not because we fought.'

'Then when?' Harry asked, wondering how the fuck Malfoy was going to justify leaving him hard in such circumstances. Malfoy didn't answer. Exasperated by the fights, and fed up with Malfoy's inability to be clear about anything coupled with the neglected thing in his pants, Harry pushed past Malfoy, picked up his shirt and left the Room. He'd deal with his hard-on after he dealt with his unreasonably torrential feeling of rejection.

**.NB.**

'Do you know if Malfoy did anything to Harry?' was the first thing Neville said to Blaise on Sunday morning. They took their usual places in the library, and Blaise seemed more relaxed than he usually was, even to the socially awkward Gryffindor geek. He supposed it was the assurance that no-one else was likely to waste their Sunday morning in the library, so they had the space to themselves and Blaise wasn't likely to be seen spending time in his presence.

'Pfft. He wouldn't have the heart,' Blaise responded half-heartedly. 'All the energy and happiness he gets these days is from being with Harry. The rest of the time ... classes, plus still having to sleep in the Slytherin dorms, quite frankly he has nothing else to look forward to.'

'Oh ... okay,' Neville accepted the answer hesitantly. All he knew was that something was going off between Harry and Malfoy, and if Harry wasn't telling any of his friends, evidently Malfoy wasn't telling his only ally either. It was obvious enough now that it had become the subject and arrowhead of many of the routine insults being thrown their way. It may not have bothered Neville so much if he hadn't come to think of himself as Harry's primary guy friend.

Ron, though he hadn't exactly joined in the vocally anti-Potter-Malfoy bullying, still wasn't making life easy. Neville was starting to think his persistent cold silence was bordering on cattiness. What was he expecting? For Harry to leave Malfoy and apologize to his best friend for choosing another guy over him? What?

'Longbottom?' The sound of his name being called brought Neville out of his sulky thoughts, and he looked up in an instant to Blaise, who was looking at him with a measure of concentration and interest.

'Daydreaming?' Blaise asked.

'No,' Neville replied. 'Just worrying about Harry.'

Blaise snorted, and went back to his book, rearranging his feet on the table. 'You and everyone else.'

'I mean I'm worried about whether or not it'll work out. Him and Malfoy, I mean. And I'm worried about how everyone's treating them. It's not fair.'

'Merlin, you should have been born a Hufflepuff.'

'I mean it.'

'Exactly why you should have been born a Hufflepuff.'

Neville, upon saying his next sentence, immediately wished he hadn't. 'Do you believe in true love?'

The lack of answer that lasted for several minutes felt like karmic punishment. Neville had never felt so embarrassed about asking a question in his life.

'No,' Blaise answered eventually.

Neville thought, for a moment, that it was an answer he should have expected. But not in that tone of voice. He would have expected it in a scoff, or a snarl even. But Blaise didn't sound like Blaise when he said "no." He sounded a bit smaller. And he didn't say anything else. They sat in semi-comfortable silence after that, in which Neville once again sank into a reverie of thoughts, this time about Blaise, and why he might not believe in true love. And why that bothered him so very, very much.


	13. Time

**.HD.**

'_I've been putting this off for too long,' Draco said quietly, but with his mouth against Harry's ear it seemed to both of them like the sentence filled the whole room._

_A daring pair of hands reached down to gently stroke Harry's lower back, and if the gesture didn't imply so much, it probably would have been ticklish. But instead, the sensuality of Malfoy's gentle breathing on his ear and his fingertips shyly seeking skin beneath his untucked shirt was making Harry's knees weak. The candles lighting the room, the scent of fresh air from the open window ... the setting was perfect. Malfoy was perfect. The world was at ease. Harry turned his face to encourage a kiss, but suddenly, with no reason at all, he was alone. His sexy untucked shirt was gone, his jeans were gone, and he was naked, and the breeze from the open window had gone cold, and the candles were out, taking their light and warmth with them. Harry was confused, and concerned, and distinctly, uncomfortably alone._

Harry's eyes snapped open and it took him a moment to rise out of the dream, like trying to swim to the surface of a thick bog. But soon he was awake, and some comfort came from knowing it had been only a dream. But perhaps most unsettling of all was the familiarity of the feeling. He had felt that alone when Malfoy was sitting right next to him. And he kept remembering that conversation he had heard Hermione having, about what Lavender used to do when she was bored with a boyfriend. Cheat, then when she had worked her boyfriend into a jealous, suspicious frenzy, use his behaviour as an excuse to leave with a clean face. But he couldn't start to think that way about Malfoy. Sure, his neurotic Slytherin was acting dismissive, evasive even, but he couldn't forget the look in Malfoy's eyes when he had said "I love you", when he had kissed him in front of the school and said "I'm not ashamed of you". That devoted love, that which had driven him to disobey the direct orders of the most dangerous evil wizard on the planet, can't have dissolved already.

Harry kept trying to trace back to the moment when the distance had begun to grow, and he had a feeling that it was horribly obvious, but it eluded him consistently.

Harry cornered Malfoy after potions class, and ushered him into a disused corridor.

'You have a free class before history of magic, don't you?' he said by way of greeting (they had hardly spoken in potions, due to the test).

'Yes,' Malfoy said. 'But we don't have to spend every second of the day together.'

The response threw Harry for a moment, and he stood in silence, unsure of what to say. He hadn't been expecting that. He had admittedly assumed that most of their free time at least would be spent with each other, but now that he thought about it, that would probably feel a bit crowding to someone who had grown up an only child with no especially close relationships.

'True,' he said, hoping to sound casual, but inwardly cringing at the stiffness of the word as it exited his mouth. He hoped the hurt wasn't too transparently plain on his face. 'Okay. I'll, uh, I have some studying to do anyway. I'll see you in Transfig.'

He walked away, suddenly feeling all too conscious of putting one foot in front of the other, and convinced that his walk looked weird somehow. Malfoy didn't stop him.

Harry paused after rounding a corner, Lavender once again coming to mind. If Malfoy was going to be seeing someone else, it would have to be in between classes when he wasn't likely to be disturbed, right?

Harry looked discreetly around the corner, and sure enough, Malfoy was standing with his back to the wall as if waiting for someone.

Harry was unprepared for what he saw next. Ducking around the corner on the other end of the hallway, a flash of unmistakeable red hair and bright blue eyes made themselves known.

'I didn't think you'd actually stay,' Ginny said frankly, and Malfoy crossed his arms.

'I wasn't planning to. Your baby coincidentally dragged me around from class to this very spot on the pretence of spending a free period together.'

'I didn't say anything to Harry,' Ginny replied sharply. Harry knew that she hated being accused of sneakiness. What interested him was that she had apparently set up the meeting behind his back, so clearly Malfoy hadn't been the one planning anything disloyal, at least not this time. What irked him, however, was being referred to as anyone's "baby".

'So what is it?' Malfoy asked tiredly. 'This had better not take long.'

Ginny crossed her arms and straightened her back. Even though she was a clear foot shorter than Malfoy, she may as well have been taller, for all the imposing grace she possessed.

'What the hell is going on between you and Harry?'

Malfoy looked completely lost for a moment. His blank face eventually gave way to a self-satisfied smirk, one Harry hadn't seen in months but definitely recognized.

'I'd have thought you all knew by now. You see, when two boys love each other very much ...'

'You know bloody well what I mean,' Ginny interrupted bitterly. 'What have you done that's got Harry all tied up in knots?'

Harry wanted to groan, but knew if he made a sound, his eavesdropping would be discovered. As it was, he felt guilty spying on his friend and Malfoy, though burning curiosity made him stay. Still, he wished Ginny hadn't made him sound like such a little girl.

Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't suppress a groan, and even covered his face in one hand for a moment.

'What is it with you nosy Gryffindors? Just the other day, Blaise was teasing me about his other watchdog, that Longbottom, and how he was concerned that I was being a nasty boyfriend or some such rubbish. Firstly, Harry is a big boy who can take care of himself, and secondly, you can bloody well tell him that, and tell him to stop whining about me behind my back.'

Harry bristled, and was inches away from erupting from behind the wall. So that was it. He was being a whiny little bitch, was he? The anger was fuelled in part by an underlying fear that that was what all his pushing and prodding had resulted in – he couldn't just trust Malfoy when he said that being alone with Harry was enough, he couldn't just trust that Malfoy didn't need sex or touchiness to feel intimacy. He had been too clingy.

'Harry hasn't said a word, but that's how we know. And it doesn't take a genius to see that you may as well be ignoring him altogether. When we do see you two, you barely even speak to him.'

_Had it gotten that bad?_

'And when you're in classes together, Neville says you don't even look at him.'

_Was that true?_

'Well maybe he's just lost my interest,' Malfoy said blithely. 'Maybe I just don't feel the same way about him as I used to. He's not really my type, though it was exciting for a while I guess. Like you said, it doesn't take a genius.'

Harry's stomach dropped and suddenly he felt like he'd been doused with water. The words had come out of Malfoy's mouth. He had heard them. There was no other interpretation.

Turning and walking away from the corridor, away from the dungeons, Harry may have heard a hex been fired, but he couldn't be sure. He was underwater, sluggish, but in the same way the walls around him seemed that much closer and harder, the light that much brighter, the ground that much more solid. The air seemed colder and crisper. His heart was beating so hard it started to hurt. And when he reached the lonely staircase up to the owlery, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed at this time of day, he sat down, put his hands on his knees, and tried to slow his breathing.

And there, quiet and cold and solitary, the world feel apart, and Harry began to cry.

**.NB.**

'What time is it?' Neville asked with some concern, as he and Blaise sat in their usual spot in the library, hidden by books and walls.

'Late in the afternoon. Check the clock yourself, I'm busy,' Blaise said from behind his novel. Neville wasn't daring enough to ask what it was about, given the morbid black and brown cover.

'Last class would have been about half an hour ago,' Neville said to himself. Blaise rubbed a hand over his face. 'Half an hour? How long have we been sitting here?'

Neville noted with puzzled satisfaction that Blaise had used the word "we". He usually only referred to himself, or to Neville when he was in a generous mood. It occurred to Neville that that may have been the first time Blaise ever said "we".

The real puzzle was why that was so pleasing.

'It must be about an hour I suppose. You came in about halfway through my charms homework, so it must be about that.'

'Now why would I waste an hour sitting here and reading when I could be reading in the comfort of my own common room, with a plate of cherries and a first year to spit them at?' Blaise asked, seeming genuinely puzzled but good-humoured. Neville risked a cheeky grin and said, 'Maybe sitting here with me is more fun.'

'Oh, yes. Oodles,' Blaise drawled in reply, but he didn't move either. He opened the page where he had closed it on his finger, and kept reading, and Neville, who liked having Blaise there and didn't want to bother him into moving, went back to his homework.

**.HD.**

It must have been quite late when Harry arrived in front of the fat lady in the portrait, because the sky was darkening and the hallways were empty enough to avoid any confrontation with stragglers. He couldn't stop himself from blinking, his eyes felt dry from all the crying he had done. He must have cried all the moisture from his body, and he dreaded meeting anyone in the common room, though of course that was where they'd all be. He must look a right mess, a proper girly poof all red-eyed from bawling over his boyfriend. Though of course, what did he expect? Malfoy was used to the best. He was raised on silk and cream and gold and other expensive things. Harry was just a boy, really. He had known that all along. It was probably just a novelty, he realized, dating the Chosen One. Like Malfoy had said once before, he was already doomed socially after all he had gone through with the Dark Lord. School bullying was probably just a mosquito bite to him.

Harry was starting to see every moment he thought had been meaningful in a new light. He must have looked like such a fool, getting all doe-eyed over lovey dovey moments, thinking he had found someone who loved him just as Harry, not as the Chosen One, not as a hero, just as Harry. Someone who didn't care about what the world thought so long as they could be together.

He tried to remember why he and Malfoy had gotten together in the first place, but even that had been basically set up and arranged by Snape and carried out by himself with that one kiss, that one he had initiated. Malfoy had probably just been tolerating him this whole time, on the basis that he got the scandalous glamour of being Harry fucking Potter's gay boyfriend, and the occasional snog or touch-fest, which he lost interest in soon enough, because obviously Harry wasn't very good at it.

The signs had all been there, too. Malfoy didn't want anything to do with Harry's friends, which isn't what happens when you're close to someone, because you're supposed to accept their friends, because friends make up part of who you are, and they had all been there for so many of the defining moments of his life.

And because of his stupidity, his puppy-love-blinded eyes, he had lost Ron, his closest, most loyal friend, he had disgusted Hermione, who knew what was going on all along (she had forgiven Malfoy for the past but never truly trusted him, and she was smart, Harry should have trusted her judgement). He had pretty much betrayed Ginny. He should be with her right now. She was good, and kind, and very pretty. He should have stuck with her.

He spoke the password in a voice that sounded dull and thick to his own ears, and shuffled in, ducking into the dormitory and past the few people in the common room without even glancing at their faces. He had to be alone tonight.

He drew the curtains around his bed and curled up. _That's right, you wuss_, he thought to himself. _Mope and sulk. That's what you do when things get painful. That's what six years in Hogwarts has taught you._

_But what am I supposed to fight when there's nothing there attacking me?_

_What do I do when there's no snitch to catch, and no dragon to fight, no evil Dark Lord or giant spider to face off with? What with I do when the enemy is me?_

Harry pressed his face stubbornly into the pillow and willed all thoughts to die. He just wanted to sleep for a hundred years until all thought died away and he could drift into the ether, thoughtless, careless, nothing more to say or do. And in that miserable and defeated mood, Harry went to sleep.

**.NB.**

Neville didn't know whether or not to disturb Harry, though truth be told, much as he wanted to be there for his friend, he didn't know what to say or do. Harry wasn't going to confide in him, that much he instinctively knew. But something had so obviously gone wrong. He didn't think Harry had even seen him sitting up in bed before he slumped onto his own, puffy-eyed and washed out, before dragging closed the red drapings to hide on his mattress without having to deal with anyone's scrutinizing gaze.

What had Malfoy done? He knew it must be Malfoy. Only Malfoy could affect Harry so much these days. There was no-one else. Even Ron's absence from Harry's life had pretty much become normalcy, and there was nothing Ron could really say to drive Harry to tears. Hermione was on good terms with him, though she was in her own dorm and wouldn't have seen Harry's hasty, flustered entrance, so she couldn't even be there to help. Ginny was Harry's friend and though she could be coarse sometimes, she'd never reduce him to tears. No, it was definitely something Malfoy had done. And it was something awful.

Feeling bit cowardly, Neville lay back, shutting closed the book on his lap and staring at the black and brown cover. He had thought Harry and Malfoy were the living proof that love conquered all, even long-lived prejudice, even hate, even pettiness. Was he wrong? Was he just a hopeless romantic? Because if he was, then that definitely didn't bode well for whatever it was he was starting to feel himself.


	14. Shaken Foundations

**.HD.**

It was all Harry had been able to do to force himself out of bed the following morning, but a glance at his bedside clock told him that he was already two minutes late for his first class. It wasn't one that he shared with Malfoy, but that just gave him more space to contemplate what he'd do next time he saw him. The fact that Malfoy hadn't broken it off clearly meant he was waiting for Harry to get tired and do it himself, so in order to avoid further pain, that was what Harry would have to do. But still, an annoying, nagging hope in the pathetically desperately optimistic corner of his heart told him no, it wasn't right to do that, Malfoy still cared for him. He must.

But reality dictated that he should do the practical thing. Cut it off like an infected limb. Don't leave it too long or he'll never be able to do it. Best get it over and done with so he didn't waste any more of his life on this human mistake.

Still, the thought drove the knife only deeper into his heart, and he trudged from first class to second, watching the approach of third class, Transfiguration, with dread. When Malfoy and himself were next alone, he had to do it. He had to tell Malfoy in Transfiguration that they needed to talk as soon as they next had some time to spare away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the school. Malfoy would probably think it was an emotional, we-need-to-talk-about-you-neglecting-me thing, Harry though sulkily. It probably would have been, had he not overheard the conversation the day before.

The day before. It already felt like a week had gone by.

The moment he entered the classroom and saw Malfoy already sitting at the table they had claimed for their own in the front far-left corner, his whole body lit up like an electric wire. He suddenly had no idea how to broach the subject. Just say "we need to talk"? That was so ... he couldn't take that sentence seriously. "I need to talk to you at lunch time"? That was better, he supposed, but saying it would still feel like singing opera in front of the school at breakfast. It wasn't the words, but what they were designed for, what they would lead to, what he was scared of. He was the one dumping Malfoy. He had to remember that. He was the one dumping Malfoy. It terrified him. It didn't empower him or make him feel in control at all. He felt like he was running away.

He stiffly took his seat next to Malfoy, who looked over as soon as he noticed Harry settling himself down a neat, measured distance away on the bench; not too far to draw attention, not close enough to touch discreetly. Nonetheless, Malfoy extended the silent greeting they had grown accustomed to using as if it were perfectly natural – a simple brush of fingers against fingers, as if to _say I'm still here, and so are you_. The action just made Harry feel sick now, and he jerked away reflexively, drawing a quiet look of surprise from Malfoy, who withdrew his hand as if it meant nothing.

Neither of them said a word as McGonagall gave the class instructions and demanded answers to questions and gathered the usual rhythm of the class into a steady gallop of question, answer, instruction, demonstration, so on.

It was halfway through the class and Harry needed the first step over with. He leaned over as if to say something unimportant about the work they were doing, and whispered, 'Meet me in the astronomy tower at lunch.'

'Don't you ever get tired of that place? I have homework,' Malfoy replied with a brief crinkle of his nose. Harry felt his gaze darken, and replied with unintended acidity, 'Sorry to be whiny about it, but this is important. Meet me there or not, your choice.'

He said nothing else, and didn't look back up, though he could have sworn he felt Malfoy's eyes boring through his head for the rest of the class.

**.NB.**

'I'm top of the class!' Neville declared proudly and with gusto, shoving his marked assignment under Blaise's nose barely seconds into arriving in the library.

'Hello to you too,' Blaise responded unaffectedly, tossing the assignment onto the table after giving it a cursory glance.

'Didn't you hear me? I'm top of the Herbology class this year. Hermione Granger, that's _Hermione,_ mind you, is second. I came before Hermione Granger in a subject! She's not as passionate about it all as I am, but still! I'm top of the class! Sprout said so.'

'Settle down, will you? Were in a library,' Blaise replied, jerking Neville down onto a chair by the hem of his robe. 'If you're going to gush about yourself, do it quietly.'

'Aren't you pleased at all?' Neville asked, suddenly crestfallen. 'I know you don't exactly regard me as a friend, but would it kill you to look a bit impressed? No-one else believes me yet.'

Blaise looked up from the heavy book on his lap and scrutinized Neville intently. Why did the twot care so much about how a Slytherin regarded him? He must have gone barmy if Blaise's personal opinion of his character held any importance. Still, it felt good to know for sure now that he could build Neville up and knock him down as he pleased, with but the use of simple words.

'Are you expecting me to leap up out of my chair in surprise? Because that isn't going to happen,' Blaise said bluntly.

'You ... aren't surprised?'

'No.'

'That I made top of a class?'

'Of Herbology. Herbology isn't a class, it's gardening under supervision. But not, I'm not surprised, because if anyone knows how to play in the dirt with seeds and nasty things with vines and branches, it's you.'

'So, you mean, I have a green thumb? A talent?'

'For playing in the dirt, yes.'

'But back to the point, you're not surprised that I topped the class? You mean it?'

'Yes, I mean it. Oh, for Merlin's sake, yes, alright, you're smart. You have a talent.'

And somehow, with surprise, he realized that he did mean it. And it didn't bother him as much as it should have. Neville's puppy dog eyes lit up and his grin lit up the room better than the candles arranged under the scarce light afforded by the narrow window half-covered by a stack of large, leather-bound books.

**.HD.**

Harry thought for a moment that Malfoy may not show up and he could put off the confrontation for another day, but he arrived only a few minutes late, looking cautiously at Harry as though he had rows of shark teeth waiting to bite Malfoy's hand off.

They settled uneasily, leaning against the railing together with about a yard of space between them, looking out over the grounds. At first there was silence.

'So what was all that about in McGonagall's class?' Malfoy asked. The words were heavy with whatever it was he was feeling, if only Harry could tell what that was exactly. Harry had been wondering how to word the conversation, how to say it, how to end it, but with Malfoy standing next to him there he had lost the ability to think altogether.

'This isn't easy, I just want you to know,' Harry said. There was nothing else he could say to open the subject. He was all of a sudden overwhelmed with the desire not to look like he was getting all emotional.

'What isn't?' Malfoy asked. The careless manner he had grown into speaking with was gone, and he looked genuinely affected now.

'I just ... I know that ... this needs to end. Now. Before anyone gets hurt.' _Before you rip my heart out all over again_, Harry thought to himself. He didn't look up, but he felt the silence like a wet sheet draped over them both. He wished desperately that Malfoy would just say something. It couldn't end flat-out like that. Malfoy had other intentions, it seemed. He slowly straightened his back and started to walk slowly to the stairs. Harry clenched his fists. _Not like this_.

'Will you at least tell me something?' he asked, turning as he did.

Malfoy spun on the spot to face Harry, eyes suddenly wide and pale face paler than usual. 'Tell you something? _You_ tell _me_!'

Harry was thrown for a second, but it didn't take him long to get angry.

'What's there to tell? I know you don't actually want me, so if anyone's not been speaking their mind then it's _you_. I've been honest with you the whole time.'

'Is this about me not kissing you whenever you feel like it? Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?' Malfoy spat back with unexpected viciousness. Harry only felt angrier. How dare Malfoy even bring that up? He should be jumping for joy! He was free now, wasn't he? 'Or are you just used to getting all the attention you want when you want it? You may everybody else's golden child, but that doesn't mean you can expect me to suck you off whenever you feel a bit romantic.'

Harry bristled and was struck with a desire to jinx Malfoy. But he wasn't going to lose the battle in order to win the war.

'It's not about that and you bloody well know it,' he growled. 'Don't pretend you're not_ tired_ of me. I bet you're dancing with glee on the inside. I've just done your hard work for you. You couldn't be buggered making the moves on me, and you couldn't buggered breaking up with me either. I've just made your life easier, so stop trying to act like the injured one here.'

'I can't believe you're taking it this far! I just don't want to touch you all the time, since when does that mean I've gotten bored of you? How did that idea even get into your head?'

Harry caught a note of panic in Malfoy's tone, and felt a grim satisfaction amidst his rage. Malfoy was caught out, and he knew it.

'I suppose it doesn't matter now. After all, how much harm can eavesdropping do to a record that already has neediness and attention-seeking and a hero complex on it, eh? How much worse can I get? You probably already think I'm ...'

'Now hang on a second ...'

'_Shut up_!'

Harry's anger, which had been in check seconds before, exploded into full-blown rage, and all the isolated misery of the previous day hit him like an avalanche. It wasn't gone yet. He didn't have control. The situation was already above him and he couldn't handle it. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

'Just _stop it_. Just stop _pretending_. Don't you think you've pushed me far enough? I don't care if you think I'm over-emotional, and I don't care if you think I'm whiny or self-absorbed. You're just shallow, and selfish. You don't care about anyone except yourself. You're a good actor up to a point, but I know now. I know that you don't care at all about me. So just ... stop.'

Malfoy stood utterly speechless at the other end of the tower, near the stairs, hands still half-fists at his sides, mouth slightly open. It took Harry a moment to feel the hot tears on his cheeks, and when he did, he suddenly felt ashamed. He turned around and leaned over the balcony, turning his back on Malfoy for what he was sure was the last time.

'Harry ...'

'Leave. I know you want to. Just leave.'

There was nothing else to say. I was over. It was done. The imaginary bond was severed, and Harry was on his own now. Alone. Two years of isolation and difficulty stretched out like a desert horizon before him, and ...

... arms were wrapped tight around his middle. A face was being pressed into the back of his neck, a lean body against his spine and bum and back of his knees, and he wanted so badly to grab those arms and hurl their owner down the stairs. He hated that they felt so familiar, so _good_, but so horrible ...

'Please listen to me. You can do what you like after that, you can dump me, but please, I'm begging you. Listen to me first. I'll tell you everything.'

**.NB.**

That stupid grin just wouldn't go away. Blaise found himself looking up every now and again from his book, just to look at it, that stupid, funny little grin. He couldn't understand how anyone could be so chuffed about where they scored in a class, even if it was on top. But he had to admit, he was a tiny bit impressed. He hadn't, in truth, been surprised, but he was impressed. Neville's index-like knowledge of all plants, their uses, their origins, their natures and their habitats, and everything else under the sun, things Blaise had never even considered ... he found himself wishing that he could feel so passionate about something. Sometimes, when inspecting that grin, he would catch Neville glancing with smug glee at his marked assignment, at the (sigh) green writing on the top of the front page.

_Immaculate and beautiful work as always, Longbottom. You will surely make an invaluable member of Horticultural society in the near future_.

He wanted to roll his eyes, but begrudgingly, something told him it was true. He could picture Neville in dragonhide gloves standing knee-deep in some swamp in the pictures of the Daily Prophet, some time in the future, holding a rare specimen of plant that he discovered himself that proved useful to medicine and magic all over the world.

Since when did Neville get so much respect in his mind? Blaise couldn't possibly imagine. Still, it must be for good reason. After all, Blaise never gave respect to anyone who didn't deserve it.


	15. I've Only Just Noticed

**.HD.**

There was something in the way he had said _Please. Please listen to me_. He had repeated it on and off when Harry didn't reply, squeezing him lightly around the middle, just light enough that Harry didn't feel especially restricted, but tight enough that Harry couldn't escape without a struggle.

They sat facing each other, both with their legs crossed on the ground, Harry unable to look up because of his cry- face. He had dried the tears as well as he could, but he still knew that his face would be pink and his eyes were probably pink too, and watery. He couldn't stop sniffling or blinking. Much as he resented Malfoy, and was suspicious as to what his excuses would be, he still was embarrassed for Malfoy to see his face like that.

Malfoy played with his fingernails, looking at Harry, at his messy hair, and his downturned face, and his hand-me-down clothes and worryingly still body.

'I don't know exactly where to start, but the Weaslet ... but my conversation with Ginny would probably be appropriate.'

Harry knew then that Malfoy knew he had been listening. He was too drained to care anymore about that.

'I just want you to know, straight off, I didn't mean what I told her. She was just being so nosy and overprotective, like she thought she was your mother or something, and I just wanted to shut her up, or to piss her off. She was irritating me. It was wrong, and it was a stupid, bad idea, and I shouldn't have said anything like that. I just wanted her to butt out.'

Harry couldn't bring himself to believe it quite yet. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was consistent with Malfoy's character, he supposed. Or was that his heart making excuses? He couldn't afford to believe Malfoy right off the bat.

'She hexed me, if it makes you feel better.'

Harry snorted, and Malfoy's hand moved as if to touch his knee, but then withdrew, and the hollowness, the cold doubt in the pit of Harry's belly returned.

'I don't suppose saying that I love you will help any, but it's true. I love you, Harry. Even though I haven't been saying it much.'

Harry felt dangerously close to crying again at the very mention of the words, and fought down the urge with every ounce of strength he had. The struggle must have been noticeable, because Malfoy's hand was on his knee and before he realized it, without hesitating this time. Malfoy scooted closer.

'I can't imagine how I'd feel if I suddenly thought you didn't love me anymore, and I don't want to think about it, but that's okay, because it isn't true. You're stuck with me whether it's good for you or not, Potter,' Malfoy said, making an attempt at sounding imperious.

For some reason, it was as though he was ten years old again, no real bonds, no real friends, only doubt, and rejection. Like there was no-one he could trust. He was the freak. He would never be close to anyone, or loved the way his cousin was loved, treated with gentleness or kindness.

He had handed his heart over to someone who had only too recently been his enemy, and expected it to be easy enough, if not a walk in the park. Perhaps he had trust issues. It made sense. Deep within, he suspected he couldn't really be wanted. He had spent too long being the unloved one, the one who could never fit in anywhere the way normal, happy children did. The one who just couldn't be loved, because it was in his nature not to be loved. The mongrel on the corner. He wasn't meant for anyone. He the world's hero and scapegoat. Anyone he got close to was cursed anyway.

'Please,' Malfoy asked, in that voice, again. A mingled desperation, a plea, a little bit of weakness. Harry forced himself to look up, and had to look straight back down again, because he could not meet Malfoy's intense gaze. Those silver eyes. They shone like blue metal. Like the sky over the lake.

'I shouldn't have said it. It was idiotic. Please. Harry,' Malfoy took Harry's chin in his hand and lifted his face forcibly, staring into Harry's face, eyes darting from one lense of Harry's glasses to the other. 'You must believe me.'

The other hand found Harry's hands in his lap, and insinuated itself between them, holding tightly to the warm, slightly sweaty palms.

'If I didn't want to be with you, why would I be trying so hard to show you otherwise?'

'I don't know,' Harry admitted. Now that he had no choice but to look at Malfoy's face, he could see genuine fear, misery even, clearer than he was used to seeing emotions on that face. It occurred to him how accustomed Malfoy was to guarding his feelings, and what feelings he might have guarded before.

'I believe you,' he said, though it was difficult to get the words out, and Malfoy smiled and sighed a little.

'I never thought that it would end in you getting hurt like this. If I knew ... but I suppose I do have to explain myself. I don't like that it was so easy for you to believe that I don't love you.'

Harry didn't know how to reply. He was starting to feel foolish, like he had humiliated himself. Perhaps he _had_ overreacted. Perhaps he _should_ have thought about it before leaping to that conclusion.

'But you did hint towards a valid reason I suppose,' Malfoy sighed in discomfort, and pulled himself closer again to entwine both hands with Harry's. He was close enough to kiss now, and the point of one of Harry's trainers pressed against the concave of the top of one of Draco's black lace-up square-toed shoes. He didn't lean forward. It wasn't the right moment. Not yet.

'I didn't think I was being so ... introverted, at the time. Well, I did, but I didn't think about it. I assumed you'd be patient with me, but it probably did look like I was avoiding you. Actually, I sort of was, but not for the reasons you think,' Malfoy said quietly. 'I was remembering things that I didn't want to be remembering. I was just trying to come to terms with it. And you deserve to know. I just ... I was sort of ashamed. I thought you'd be revolted, or maybe you'd think I was being a coward about it. It felt like the kind of thing you'd be able to cope with. I didn't want to be the weak one. I guess I got a little bit of satisfaction out you chasing me like a nervous, lovesick puppy, but that was cruel.'

Intrigue began to ovetake cautiousness in Harry's brain. Any reason other than being bored with Harry, any reason other than not wanting to touch him. He was embarrassed at himself for it, but couldn't help the desire to believe that something else was to blame. He didn't even have the energy beside that to be angry at Malfoy's pettiness.

'It started with something you said, actually,' Malfoy said, withdrawing a hand to scratch at the back of his head, and quickly putting it back, making sure Harry's hand didn't escape or feel lonely. 'You said ... okay,' he took a deep breath, and it was suddenly clear how much Malfoy didn't want to be telling him the truth. It only made Harry more nervous, but he needed to know. But if it was so personal, was it right to force Malfoy to tell the truth when it obviously bothered him? But could he live with not knowing, and would Malfoy ever open up like this again? He had the sudden unfair feeling of having bullied Malfoy into sharing something deeply personal.

'Remember that day we got caught in the charms classroom?' Malfoy asked. Harry nodded mutely. Come to think of it, Malfoy had jerked away and become oddly silent that day. That _was_ probably when it started.

'You said, "you're not going to force this on me, are you?'" That just reminded me of something. It ... it isn't easy to say, but I think you really do deserve to know. You deserve to know what it is you're getting,' he said. Each sentence was coming like an animal being forced through a cage door.

'You know, I think I can handle not knowing. If it's this painful to tell me ...'

'No, I should.'

'It's okay,' Harry said. Post-tantrum, he was starting to find it easier to believe Malfoy again, and a misunderstanding having caused such a dangerous fight seemed stupid, and it may as well be ancient history. He did desperately want to know why Malfoy had suddenly withdrawn, but if it was something he was dealing with on his own, then it was his business. That was what he would expect of Malfoy, after all. He wouldn't want anyone poking around with his personal demons, even if it was the one he loved, though he wasn't one hundred per cent sure of that.

'I think I should tell you,' Malfoy said. 'After all, you'll probably find out one way or another, and I'd like to be the one who tells you.'

Harry gave in, half-guilty, half-relieved, and shut his mouth as a sign that his ear were open. Malfoy's lips curved slightly at the edges at Harry's final compliance, and he struggled on.

'You know how my father was arrested for more than just being a known Death Eater?' Malfoy said. It was his turn to look down, but his hands remained clasped with Harry's.

'Yes,' Harry said, once he understood that some sort of audible response was required.

'Well, what else did you hear?'

'That he had some part in a smuggling ring, and he embezzled money from the Ministry more than once,' Harry said, ticking off things in his head. 'He had abused his position, threatened co-workers, and used illegal methods to get bills rejected or passed. I got the impression he did a lot behind the ministry's back.'

'What else?'

There was one other thing Harry had read that he had avoided saying, and realized with morbid, fearful suspicion that this had something major to do with what Malfoy was trying to tell him.

'I heard he was charged with spousal abuse. And child abuse.'

'Yeah,' Malfoy said, slightly awkwardly, as if he was admitting to something he himself had done wrong. 'That's what happens in homes like ours. It escalated after we lost Dobby. Father didn't have anyone else to take his frustrations out on. There were just some things they didn't mention in the Prophet, for censorship reasons and such.'

There was a hint of something terrible in his sentence, something Harry didn't want to suspect, let alone believe. Malfoy still wasn't looking up from his hands.

'I don't want to have to admit to this,' Malfoy said in a small voice. 'But it's going to come out. Stuff like this always does.'

Harry tightened his fingers on Malfoy's hands. _No_.

'He had different ways of taking out his frustrations, see ...'

Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the pictures coming into his head.

'Sometimes he'd hit us. Mostly mother, especially if she tried to defend me, but a lot of the time she was too terrified or just not in the room.'

Harry felt Malfoy's fingers trembling under his. The anger had returned, but it was a very different anger now.

'Sometimes, if he was in a really foul mood, or sometimes I'd see the look on his face, and I'd know, and running never did any good, because he could always trap me or find me ... he used to do it as a really insidious way of getting back at mother if he was angry at her for something, but I think after a while he started to enjoy it, because he did it behind her back ...'

_Please don't say what I think you're about to say_. Malfoy had started shaking again, and Harry wanted to reach out, but he couldn't move.

'He started using it to ... to "discipline" me ... but he could use any old excuse if he was in the mood.' Malfoy's face, directed down but close enough to see, had partly scrunched up and he looked like he was about to cry, or scream, or both. Floods of memories filled his once unreadable eyes and Harry to wrap his arms around Malfoy. He could do nothing else. He found himself picturing the horrible scene. The real anger came from knowing that no amount of imagining would come close to what had actually happened. The memories, or the encounters. And he was disgusted. Enraged. With Lucius Malfoy. He wanted to kill him. As he watched Draco's shoulders shake and fought down the bile, his own fragility and sadness fell away under the relentless onslaught of fury that overtook it. _How dare he. I'm going to kill him if it's my last act. He is going to die for what he did. That bastard. How _dare _he_.

'_He told me I was enjoying it_,' Malfoy hissed into Harry's shoulder. Then he broke down completely.

**.NB.**

It was so quiet that neither boy could quite believe it wasn't after hours. It was getting dim outside, and the unusual pair, secluded and comfortable, were reading again.

The sombre yet peaceful quiet of their companionship allowed each to regard each other without fear of scrutiny. Sometimes Neville would look up at Blaise and see Blaise looking at him, but neither boy would look away. Neville wondered at how some things don't even need to be said with words. He was Blaise's friend, one way or another. It didn't have to be said out loud. He valued Blaise too. He was pretty sure even the proud, unruffled Slytherin could see that, and liked it in his own pompous way.

Blaise himself was charmed by Neville's new boldness. He did claim responsibility for some of it. Some of it was, of course, because Neville now seemed to think of himself as being equal to Blaise on some level. It was probably that stupid Herbology assignment (Blaise's overall mark ranked around the middle of his year, an average, which was mildly disappointing but not of overall import).

Sometimes Blaise's mind would go blank when their eyes met again over the table between them. There wasn't a particular reason why. He should probably have been bothered by the fact that looking at Neville, when they were completely alone together, took precedence over actual thought. He couldn't remember deciding that, but apparently his mind had made itself up while his back was turned, and Neville's face was a priority.

Blaise remembered when Neville's face used to be something to laugh at, but now he wondered why. It was oval-shaped, not at all abnormal, and neatly symmetrical. His dark, often mussed hair curled around his ears in the way a toddler's hair usually does, and his eyes were weightless and shining like a toddler's, and yes, his teeth stood out a bit, especially when he grinned, but that was more endearing than anything else. He actually had quite good skin. He probably used some sort of plant thing to take care of it. And he was taller than he seemed, because he used to slump a lot. But not with Blaise. With Blaise he stood a little taller, walked a little more confidently. And his hands were particular and accurate. He had useful sorts of hands. Not too delicate for busy, difficult tasks, not too indelicate for gentle, fine work. They tapped on things or fiddled when Neville was nervous, but that was a flaw Blaise could tolerate.

In fact, if Blaise was coming to be an expert on anything, he guessed it would probably be Neville. On his little worries, his habits, even the ones Neville himself wasn't aware of. If somebody asked, Blaise fancied he could probably tell them exactly how many hairs on each of Neville's eyebrows.

Blaise closed his book and leaned back, resigned. It probably should have occurred to him before, but apparently there was nothing for it now. Neville was on his mind too much for it to be a fleeting fancy. And he did know rather too much about the idiot.

Ah, he though. It couldn't be helped. But Malfoy had always been a trend-setter. He chuckled to himself, as he wondered whether Pansy would be falling for the Gryffindor Patil next.


	16. Scar Tissue

**.NB.**

'Took them long enough,' Blaise commented half-heartedly, before tossing the paper to Neville from across the table. They were spending a morning in the library together before a class, a relatively new routine for them, but it seemed to have come naturally.

Neville's face went blank with shock for a moment as he stared at the front page. There was a stretched and awkward lack of response as he tried to think of something to say in response to what was blazing across the front page of the Prophet.

'Well ... at least they didn't call him Harry Poofter like that Nott kid from your house,' Neville said weakly. Blaise laughed briefly.

'True, true. I'm wondering why it took so long to get out though,' he said, stroking his chin absently. Neville was unconvinced, and eyed Blaise shrewdly until his stare was returned.

'Doesn't one of your aunts have a high-up position in the Prophet?' he asked slowly.

'If you're asking whether or not she could have stopped it, then no. She's not chief editor, and even if she was, and you know I absolutely loath to sound cold, but this kind of story is to a journalist what a lost sheep is to a hungry dragon. It's business, my dear Longbottom, and I consider it far too honourable of her to have interfered with the story reaching her people for as long as she did.'

Neville was apparently torn between two different responses to this comment, and Blaise amusedly watched his smooth brow knot up adorably in frustration.

'But she made an effort,' Neville said slowly. Blaise could already see that Neville was leaning toward dropping the issue, so he redirected the subject quickly to distract him.

'What are you going to do now? This is going to bring a lot more criticism down on Potter's head, and if you're going to be there for him, it won't be easy. Anyone he affiliate with will be under fire as well. According to the report, some parents are pushing for another inquest into the Malfoys on the suspicion that he must have done something to the Chosen One. Logically speaking, it would have been a tactical move for the Dark Lord to make if he wanted to manipulate Harry into his clutches, and Malfoy is the perfect pawn for that kind of game.'

'But that's not what happened,' Neville protested.

'We know that,' Blaise responded tiredly. 'But imagine how this looks to an adult who has only just heard of the affair.'

Neville shut up again to knot up his brow and sulk, and Blaise wondered if he should have saved the bombshell for a special occasion, just so he had an excuse to ... reluctantly ... comfort the boy with an arm around the shoulders, to feel whether those broad, though often drawn-in shoulders were just padded under the loose clothing or whether there was genuinely some appealing muscle development under there ...

'Poor Harry,' Neville said sadly. 'But I'm not giving up on him. And while you're being "neutral" with the Slytherins and Malfoy, it wouldn't kill you to let him know if things get really bad, he's not totally on his own.'

'He despises me,' Blaise reminded Neville, but the sweet airhead didn't seem to notice.

'He acts like that sometimes, but he actually likes to know he isn't completely alone. Harry said. And if anyone knows him that well, it's Harry.'

'Nice to know you two have been having these heart-to-hearts. If only Malfoy had someone to sit up late with, someone to braid his hair and share giggly boy stories with.'

'I'm the only guy he can talk about this stuff with,' Neville said seriously. 'Ron still won't get over it, and if he doesn't feel weird mentioning stuff like that to me, then I'm okay with that. Aside from me, his only real friends right now are all girls.'

Blaise admitted to himself, silently, in his head, that it would be a proud position, playing such an apparently important role in a homosexual celebrities' life. He wouldn't be surprised if Neville enjoyed it a little, though fairly, he was probably too busy worrying about Harry to feel pleased.

And with that in mind, Blaise remembered how almost every semi-meaningful conversation they had had was based around Harry. Whenever Neville opened up at all, it was about his concern for Harry, about Harry's problems. _I_ _bet he's never talked about_ me _to anyone_, Blaise thought sullenly. _Argh! That doesn't even matter. Of all the people I had to gain a genuine interest in, and it had to be a tosspot of a Gryffindor_.

'What are you thinking about?' Neville said unexpectedly, breaking Blaise out of his shallow reverie. It must have been the first time Neville had asked such a question, and Blaise wondered how to answer. The truth was out of the question, though, in fact, it was just far-fetched enough to function as a sort of joke, and Blaise knew it would tickle to be laying such a truth out there as a joke. Hiding it in plain sight, as it were. So he chortled.

'Just about how very jealous I am that you're always talking about Harry, when you have a perfectly charming man sitting just across from you.'

Neville, hilariously, went red in the face and sputtered at the book he had open on the table, suddenly far too engrossed in the newspaper to _actually_ be engrossed in the newspaper. Interesting, Blaise thought to himself, and settled with a new novel to pretend to read, and sneakily watch Neville slowly gain composure as he was reminded about his original angst, and the story on the front page of the Prophet.

**.HD.**

'This will make our visit home a bit awkward,' Malfoy said irritably, abusing the front page of the Prophet with the pointy end of his quill.

Harry realized that he had been watching Malfoy out of the corner of his eye a lot more often. He finally understood as well a lot of things Malfoy had done – he himself was highly conscious that he not touch Malfoy too much, or crowd him when he may not want that, or instigate too many intimate moments. After hearing Harry use a sentence that he surely must have used at least once himself, Malfoy must have felt dreadful, thinking he was doing to Harry what his own father had done to him. Self-pity had inverted and become a deep, gnawing guilt which Harry couldn't avoid, and his own previous neurosis seemed dwarfed by what Malfoy must have been suffering at the time.

'What does your mother think? Have you written to her about it?' Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head. 'I wrote to her when this,' he gestured with a wave of his hand to himself and Harry, 'first started, and it took some back-and-forth with multiple owls and such just to make sure they didn't get intercepted by nosy aurors before she seemed to settle into the idea. She was charmed by how you threw yourself to the vultures in defence of my honour, actually,' Malfoy said with a smirk. 'I can show you a letter where she specifically says that if the Malfoy line is going to end with me, it may as well be publicly with someone who knows when to stand up and say "fuck you" to the rest of the world. I won't deny that being a parselmouth added to your eligibility, though. Even with the true origins of it and whatnot. She's very Slytherin in that way.'

Watching Malfoy ramble lazily on in the dappled light of the stained glass windows of the inner staircase of the tower, it was almost as though the couple of nights before hadn't even happened. But he could still feel the weight of Malfoy leaning bodily against him as he choked out sob after disgusted sob. _Rape. He had been raped by his father. More than once_. And he had felt wrong for it, not good enough, dirty, as though he didn't deserve innocent first love because he had already been used? As if he was lesser for it? Harry hadn't what to do except hold Malfoy, and apologize uneasily, and try to steady him and tell him in a way that made sense._ I love you. All of you. Every inch, every part, used or no. None of it was your fault. I'm yours and you're mine and no amount of anything on earth will stop that. Not even doubt anymore_. After Malfoy calmed down they sat beside each other with their backs against the railings, and Malfoy half-leaning into Harry's embrace. It had been cold, so they both wrapped their cloaks around themselves like blankets and nearly fallen asleep like that, when Harry promised that he'd kill Lucius Malfoy, and he meant it, from the depths of his heart. It probably wasn't a good time to say it, but Draco just snuggled deeper into Harry's arms and told him not to, because he didn't think he could put up with a long-distance relationship with an Azkaban prisoner.

And now, on the stairs beside the stained-glass window, looking at Malfoy, Harry was struck with an urge to kiss him and hold him again. Ignoring lingering thoughts about whether or not it was a good idea to get so physically active after an outburst on that topic, he slid right up against Malfoy's body and squashed their lips together, ending Malfoy's prattle mid-sentence.

Malfoy didn't seem to mind. With grateful gusto, he twisted sideways until they were bodily facing each other and drew Harry onto his lap, tilting his head so their noses didn't bump quite so much. Harry's bum ended up falling between Malfoy's thighs and onto the stone stair, but it was still comfortable, Malfoy having to curve parts of his body more to fit Harry's.

It was a long, quiet, tongue-less kiss and involved much cheek-stroking by thumbs, much back-stroking by hands, and occasionally a fingernail teasing the shell of an ear. Either way, when it ended, Harry felt like a sack of sleepy kittens and Malfoy's lidded eyes were content and dark and his arms felt natural around Harry's body again.

'Yeah, we should do that more often,' Malfoy finally said, as he nuzzled his face into Harry's neck and left it there. Harry smiled and nodded and yawned. He felt like he could spend the holidays at Malfoy's imposing mansion now. The worst was behind them. And whether he had jinxed the future in thinking that, he didn't have the emotional scope to care. The universe existed in an enclosed space of _yes_ and _warm_ and _good_ and _pleasure_, for now, and he could relax his body and soul.

**.NB.**

He hadn't been so generous with his time for anyone before, but with grim resignation, Blaise reminded himself that Neville wasn't *anyone*. He was a league of his own, unique, a perfect measure of dopiness and naivety that, when inspected up so close, became cuteness and sweetness.

And his scent. He always smelled like fresh earth and whatever herbs or plants he'd been messing around with, which usually carried some very pleasing scents. Like a natural perfume, the smell clung to him. To his hair, to his skin. Yet somehow, because he always remembered his gloves, the dirt never got under his nails.

And Blaise was starting to notice something else. He knew Neville's face, but his lips ... those lips were becoming more fascinating the more they moved, and they moved a lot when Neville spoke, and Neville spoke a lot. They were enticing. It was unfair. Slightly girly, full and pale but just pink enough to look ... Blaise didn't know the right word. Touchable. Soft. Pliant. Juicy? He wanted to know what it was like to engulf that chatterbox mouth. He wanted the satisfaction of shutting Neville up for a good hour or so with a proper, deep, thorough snogging.

Merlin, when did he turn into such an intolerable sap? Dreaming about kissing someone. Peh. Blaise wasn't some lovestruck little ponce. He called the shots on his own territory, and Neville was going to want him first. Blaise always had the upper hand. The upper hand belonged to him. It was his weapon, his shield and his right. And Neville was going to be pleading and crawling on all fours before Blaise gave in and kissed him.


	17. Growing Up and Owning Up

**.HD.**

Snow had arrived by the time students began getting their marks back.

A thick white chilly carpet masked the world outside and made it into a smudgy landscape. The cold seemed to infiltrate almost every room on the uppermost and lower regions of the castle, with only some classrooms in between heated by the kinder teachers.

Harry was hesitant about using the dreary temperature as an excuse to get as physically close as possible when they had the space, but thankfully, Malfoy seemed to have gotten the worst of his troubles off his chest and was content to indulge. Spurred on also by the report in the Prophet, the pair found a common stubbornness to bond further as they adamantly refused to let the student body's response to the article influence them.

The stay at the Manor was now a week and a half away and Harry was pleased to hear Malfoy talk about it one Saturday morning. It was a relief to know what was going to be happening during the holidays, and it was the first time Malfoy had mentioned it since it had been arranged.

'Mother will expect you to look less like a peasant and more like you deserve to be seen with me,' Malfoy said frankly, eyeing off Harry's unimpressive jacket and jeans.

'Every mother wants the best for her little girl,' Harry replied. Malfoy snorted and kicked Harry's shoe.

'I was thinking of stopping off at one of the stores that usually takes care of my wardrobe, and find you some acceptable outfits.'

Harry was dumbfounded for a moment. The prospect of going clothes shopping together had never occurred, though truthfully, it had crossed his mind what Mrs Malfoy might think of his humble, humble, _humble_ appearance.

'_One of_ the stores?'

'Some are better for shirts and robes but have a weak selection of trousers. Some know how to make good shoes but don't know a cufflink from a tie. Most of my clothes are commissioned or tailored,' Malfoy said lightly. Harry supposed he should have expected that, but it only reminded him of the vast difference between the world he had grown up in, and the world Malfoy had grown up in. And how much was it going to cost all up? He knew it should be something he paid attention to, but couldn't bear to ask without sounding frugal.

He continued to worry listlessly until he returned to Gryffindor tower, where he had gotten into the habit of retreating immediately to his dorm. Hermione followed from the common room and he made the mistake of mentioning it.

'He's right about your clothes, but, goodness,' she said, not without a touch of glee. She had to finish laughing first. 'I can't bring myself to envy you right now.'

'I can't wait until you have a fussy boyfriend,' Harry muttered. Ginny wasn't much more helpful, in fact she vouched to go along and help. Luna's recommendation of stores and gentle admonitions of commercial stores (for her usual reasons) was mostly ignored, though she did at least seem the most sincere.

Harry couldn't help the faint regret he felt when a flash of ginger hair passed them by quickly and dashed up the stairs to the boys' dorm. Ron would probably have laughed about it too, if he wasn't still being a selfish bastard. Harry wondered how long he was going to keep it up, and dismally hoped it wouldn't be forever. Surely by now Ron could see that they weren't giving up on each other any time soon? That they weren't exactly bad for each other? Or did it really all come down to the fact that he would never stop hating Malfoy, and would never forgive Harry? It all seemed so disappointingly petty.

Clothes aside, Harry wondered how exactly they were getting to Malfoy Manor. Did the wizarding world have the equivalent of a limousine? Because, if possible, Harry could see Malfoy arranging that sort of over-the-top transport. He sure as hell couldn't imagine Malfoy on a bus. Floo powder was too likely to get soot on his precious suits, and apparently the Ministry wasn't allowing any sort of network between the Manor's fireplaces and, well, _anywhere_.

'We had better not be under surveillance while we're visiting your mum,' Harry muttered, when the topic arose. 'It's bad enough that the Prophet got wind of us. They can't start monitoring our holidays.'

'I wouldn't be surprised,' Malfoy grumbled in response. They had returned to the Room of Requirement for some much-needed privacy, and lounged on a rug in front of a warming fire. Interest, ranging from shouted jokes in the corridor to borderline stalking, rose and fell in waves as their notoriety came in and out of trend. 'Personally I'd prefer they stay out of our pants and out of our business, but it's not something we have any power over.'

'Neville said something about Blaise having an aunt working for the Prophet,' Harry said. It was more thinking-out-loud at this point, but at the mention of Blaise's name Malfoy perked up and uncrossed his legs to lean forward.

'Snotty, stuck-up prick. He probably sent them the story through her.'

'If it was him, the Prophet would have published something like this earlier. Neville made it sound like he'd asked his aunt to keep it quiet for as long as possible.'

Malfoy looked at Harry intently for a long time. 'Interesting thing for Longbottom to say.'

'Why?' Harry asked, before yawning and stretching. He couldn't remember how long they had been sitting on the rug.

'How often does he talk about Zabini? Often enough, if you've started calling him by his first name.'

Harry paused for a moment. 'Come to think of it, he does call him Blaise. And I think they hang out too. They must talk a fair bit, at least. Every second thing Neville says is something Zabini told him, or something he did.'

Malfoy shuffled over to lay his head on Harry's chest before continuing. 'Surely not. Zabini wouldn't be seen dead spending recreational time with a Gryffindor, let alone an infamous dork.'

'Are you capable of talking about my friends without insulting them?'

'Though it is interesting. Maybe I should ask him about it and see how he responds.'

'Don't. I think Neville likes him. He's never talked about anyone so much, now that I think about it.'

'Very interesting,' Malfoy said. Before Harry could object to the suspicious tone of his voice, Malfoy rolled over and pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, settling on an earlobe which he slowly sucked and nibbled.

And so went the next ten minutes.

**.NB.**

For the first time in months, Neville had a conversation with Ron, and it was the first and only one he relayed to Blaise and not to Harry.

'Orright?' was how it started.

Initially, Neville only noticed that Ron had never deigned to strike up a conversation with him before. It had always been him who did, because he wanted to talk to people, and never the other way around.

Then he noticed that Ron's feet were shuffling slightly, as if he wanted to turn around and walk away.

'Hi,' he said. It would have been awkward to leave the "orright" hanging there any longer.

'So. How's things?' Ron asked. He approached and went to sit down, then changed his mind and remained standing.

'Fine. Good.'

'Heard you got top of the class in Herbology.'

'Yeah.'

'Good on yer.'

The awkward, wordless void returned and Neville had a moment in which to wonder why Ron was suddenly talking to him. The answer soon came, as Ron cleared his throat and asked, as casually as he could manage,

'So how's Harry?'

Neville crossed his arms, and responded just as casually, 'Why don't you ask _him_?'

The weight of the following few seconds was palpable.

'You ought to know why,' Ron said stiffly.

'I don't even think _you_ know why,' Neville said tartly. It came out sounding a lot more sophisticated and insightful than he felt on the inside. On the inside was a soup of irritation and embarrassment and confusion and any multitude of other emotions he wasn't able to name.

Ron snorted. 'Come on,' he replied. 'How could he be so stupid?'

_How could you_? Neville wanted to say, but that wouldn't have helped matters. 'You haven't even talked to him or been around him for ages.'

'It's Malfoy.'

'You don't know Malfoy.'

'And I suppose you think you do?' Ron retorted. Neville wondered when this had turned into an argument.

'I know him a damn sight better than you,' Neville said. 'And until you grow up and get over it, you're not going to know Harry anymore either. The holidays are coming up. You probably won't even see him again until after Christmas.'

With this, he turned on his heel and stalked off. But as soon as he rounded the corner and was out of sight, he knelt down, leaned his back against the wall, and pressed the heels of his hands to his face.

_I can't believe I just did that._

He had had an argument with a Weasley and stormed off. Neville never stormed anywhere. He usually moused about. Like a mouse.

He had never felt quite so grown-up, or quite so worried.


	18. It Ain't Easy

**AUTHORS NOTE**

_It has occurred to me that seventeen chapters have passed, and the intrepid duo haven't yet shagged. I apologize for this delay, and promise the situation will be remedied within the next couple of chapters – not strictly speaking in *this* one, but soon ;)_

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.NB.**

'Why are you staying for the holidays?' Blaise asked. It wasn't the first time he had appeared and opened a conversation without so much as a "hello". Neville figured that he probably thought it made him sound more distanced, like he didn't have to be there, like Neville wasn't important enough to formally acknowledge. Neville hoped it really just meant that Zabini could let his guard down. Never mind if it was because Neville was quiet and unassuming. He knew with some satisfaction that Blaise wasn't like this with anyone else.

'My Nan is a bit ill. She's having a rough enough time of it as it is, so I'm staying here for Christmas. Doctor says that Christmas as we usually have it would be too much strain.'

'Ah. Fair enough,' Blaise said disinterestedly. There was something refreshing about that kind of reply after having to put up with everyone's pitying glances. He hoped his grandmother was alright, and he sent her the nicest card he could find with a gift, but he knew she'd pull through, and he wasn't that worried. Plus, it was nice to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, considering what Christmas at the Longbottom household tended to be like.

'When are you leaving?' Neville asked. 'Just out of interest,' he added, in response to the look he received.

'I'm not,' Blaise huffed. 'Mother and father are treating themselves to a holiday, never mind that their anniversary is five months away. I'm either to spend it with my cousin or stay in this dreadful place. It was simply a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils.'

'Ah,' Neville said. He wasn't sure what to say about that. Blaise had never mentioned his family before, Neville realized. Clearly he didn't think much of them, despite his evident pride in his bloodline.

'I'm not crying on the inside, Longbottom,' Blaise said after a short, awkward silence. 'I'm relieved, if anything. This way I don't have to pretend that I like the ridiculous presents they send me.'

Neville couldn't deny that he felt a bit light-hearted at the thought of Blaise spending the holidays at Hogwarts. It meant spending more time together. And he did like spending time with Blaise. It just made him happy.

Not that there was any way he was saying that out loud.

**.HD.**

'We're leaving Hogwarts tomorrow,' Harry said in response to Ginny's first question.

'It'll be strange, not seeing you in the Burrow this year,' she said quietly. 'The boys miss you already, Harry,' she continued. 'You haven't seen Fred and George for ages, but they know.'

Harry didn't have to ask what about.

'And what do they think?' he asked, not without a hint of nervousness.

'They think you're barmy,' Ginny answered frankly. Harry's heart sank a little. He had always admired the twins. They had been a blessing to play alongside on the team. They were always the funniest, the best to have around to mediate a stressful situation. And now, Harry supposed, he wouldn't be able to turn to them anymore. Even with the pair of them miles away, he was only just beginning to feel the distance.

'Don't look so miserable,' Ginny said, poking Harry in the ribs. 'They reckon it's your business who you go to bed with. Their opinion of you hasn't really changed. They've always thought you were a bit barmy.'

Harry chuckled. He supposed he could deal with that.

'And before you ask about our parents, don't get your broom in a knot. They came around pretty quickly.'

'How d'you mean?'

'Well mum shares the same philosophy as the twins, and so does Bill. Dad was really awkward about it. He sort of still is. All this I'm getting from letters, of course. It'll be interesting to talk about it person when we get back.'

Harry was about to ask her not to talk to her parents about his love life, but her use of the word "we" stopped him. That's right. Ron was going as well. It would be the first time he didn't go to the Burrow with Ron, to have Christmas with his parents and his brothers and his sister. He was talking to Ginny about it.

'Harry?' Ginny said quietly, like a question.

'Nothing,' he muttered. Ron was entering the Common Room via the stairs. Harry left out the portrait hole before Ginny could realize indignantly what was going on.

**.NB.**

Neville had been sitting in the library on his own for an hour before it hit him that he wasn't reading anything.

He was waiting for someone.

As an unofficial meeting place, the library was usually comfortably private, especially if you picked the right place to sit. Even moreso over the Christmas period, during which eighty per cent of the student body went home.

Neville didn't know why, logically, Blaise would spend any of his limited leisure time with Neville. After being left to his own thoughts for nearly a week following their last conversation, he was starting to think Blaise's only reason for spending the occasional afternoon in Neville's company was so he could escape the company of his empty-headed housemates. Now Blaise had the dungeons pretty much to himself, and perhaps three or four other Slytherins.

Sighing and packing away the novel he had borrowed, Neville resolved to find something else to occupy his time. Sprout had said she'd be glad for his assistance in the greenhouses. It was wonderfully peaceful there. Comforting. All that green, that wonderful smell, of the soil and the plants, the occasional blast of colour when the flowers came into bloom. He felt a bit better already.

But there was something unfulfilling about leaving the library at that point, almost as if he'd missed an appointment. He caught himself hoping he would catch Blaise just out the front of the library ... or maybe in the next corridor ...

This couldn't be good. Surely not. Not him. Not _him_.

Not _now_.


	19. The World of Difference Between Us

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Apologies for atrocious sense of timing. For those who have been following the sequence of events to the letter, I've steamrolled over a few weeks and probably crossed over a timeline unintentionally. It doesn't matter if you haven't noticed it.

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**.HD.**

It was worse than the Cruciatus curse. Worse than spending summer with the Dursleys. Worse than, quite probably, Hell.

But at least there were no sappy Christmas decorations.

Harry stood, feeling very conspicuous and out-of-place, about five feet away as Malfoy had a rapid conversation with a young lady in dark uniform robes, as she took notes before shooting off like a sparrow between the maze-like rows of clothing.

The store was not crowded, and the staff were discreet. For that much Harry could be thankful. Malfoy had obviously contacted the owner to say they were coming, as when they arrived the middle-aged lady in official yet sophisticated clothing was waiting to meet them.

'She's one of the only old friends of the family we've been able to keep in contact with,' Malfoy had explained. 'She's possibly the only one who could say she's happy to stay in contact, and even then, it's all business.'

'Right,' Harry said, as if it made perfect sense to him. He still had the recurring feeling. The more of Malfoy's life he saw, the more he was aware that they really did come from opposite worlds. He didn't think he could ever feel comfortable in such a place, but Malfoy seemed to be perfectly in his element.

'They aren't going to add anything are they?' he asked. Just to be on the safe side. Malfoy looked at him and smiled briefly. 'Not for my money. They won't mess with the design you chose.'

Harry had picked out a simple enough pattern based on a pair of "everyday robes" hanging against the wall, looking incomplete compared with the other suits and outfits on display. When he had been asked what colour and trim he'd prefer, he had gone silent almost entirely out of intimidation and Malfoy had neatly swooped in to take care of the details.

'I thought _I_ was paying,' Harry mumbled, but not loudly enough for Malfoy to hear. Malfoy had lingering moments of wanting to be the provider. Both of them were still trying to navigate the strange and unfamiliar waters of emotional support after what Harry had discovered about Malfoy's childhood, and what Malfoy had discovered about Harry's fear of rejection and abandonment. They had both known they had issues before. Now the reality of that was becoming glaringly obvious. Money was the one thing Malfoy understood perfectly well, the one way in which he could lord it over Harry and be the one to wear the pants.

'Are you really so unused to getting new clothes?' Malfoy asked for the hundredth time. Harry responded in the affirmative while trying to pay attention to the stack of samples of material nearby. 'I buy some second-hand things from a thrift store whenever I really need any new pants or shirts. I've basically been taking care of my own school clothes and things since second year, when I got used to having money of my own.'

From the look on his blonde nuisance's face, Harry guessed he wasn't going to be allowed any more second-hand clothes. If Malfoy hijacked his wardrobe and started dressing him in the kind of things _he_ wore on a regular basis, suits and Italian leather shoes and ten-galleon ties, the Prophet was going to throw themselves a party.

Malfoy must have noticed the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Harry's face. Harry had to consciously un-purse his lips more than once in the last hour. He was still trying to feign interest in the obscure tools of the expensive clothes trade when he felt Malfoy's hand rub at the tension in his neck, his other hand sliding under his jacket and around his waist.

'Don't be ridiculous,' Malfoy whispered before kissing Harry's ear. 'It's just one bloody suit.'

**.NB.**

Neville hadn't seen Blaise in four days. He was used to seeing him, by now, every two or three days. Harry and Draco had left the morning before so they could have some time outside of school together before Christmas. Ron and Ginny had left for home the evening before them. Hermione had gotten a lift with the Weasleys. Very few Gryffindors remained in the tower now that it was Christmas, and none of them were his friends.

He had socially gone downhill even further than usual in the last month, for obvious reasons. He would go so far as to say he had hit rock bottom.

A handful of weeks spending time in the library with Hogwart's second most hardcore Slytherin, and he had surprised himself by not caring what anyone thought. Now that he had the space to think about what that meant, he was feeling a mixture of concern and any number of other emotions that he couldn't quite pinpoint – like they were all string tangled together floating in the water, and he couldn't separate them or see what they connected to.

The less time he spent around Blaise, the less time he wanted to spend around Blaise, but it wasn't because he didn't want to see him. It was just the opposite. Neville didn't want to have to rely on someone who was as unreadable and dangerous as a poisonous snake, especially not for companionship. If he made it any clearer than he probably already had, that Blaise had gotten inside his head ...

He shuddered to think any longer on it. He was already looking at the few-and-far-between human shadows moving under the shelves, wondering if he'd be able to recognize Blaise's. He was still sitting in the same spot in the library. He wondered if Blaise was watching him from behind something, chuckling to himself at the way he had this stupid lump tied around his finger. No, that would require some level of planning. Neville stood up and picked up the books he had considered borrowing. He wasn't really worth that much effort.

After passing the front desk, Neville stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back and looked. There, in the Herbology section, Blaise was staring at the shelves and, with a self-inking quill and a little moleskin notebook, was taking down notes. He pulled a book half-out so he could see the reference number, and kept scribbling. He flicked through the first few pages of another, and put it back. Then his brow furrowed for a moment and he looked annoyed. He snapped the moleskin notebook shut and left the Herbology section. Neville backed into the corner of the exit so Blaise wouldn't see him as he wandered into the next isle, not bothering to take notes.

Neville walked straight to the Gryffindor tower, deaf to a half-hearted "fag" muttered by a faceless second-year on the couch and the snigger of his friend. He'd heard worse, both before and after openly supporting Harry and Draco's spontaneous romance.

What had Blaise been doing? Whatever it was, Neville felt a little happier than he had a couple of hours ago. Blaise had shown no interest whatsoever in Herbology before the pair of them had starting hanging out. Well maybe he wouldn't call it "hanging out". If he couldn't get Blaise to think well of him at all, Neville has happy that they seemed to share an interest. That was close enough.

And that feeling - Neville's heart quickly sunk again - was why he was so worried in the first place.


	20. Help Me

**.HD.**

It was only two days till Christmas. Harry replayed this sentence over and over in his head. Only two days until Christmas. And this was where he'd be spending it.

The gates were at least five meters tall and the house looked haunted and grey. A constant feel reverberated around the grounds, neither welcoming nor silent. The place teemed with magic, not all of it good magic.

Aside from the eyes-on-the-back-of-my-head feeling that the property gave Harry, Malfoy Manor had a blighted, lonely, empty feel to it that set it as far apart from the Burrow that is was possible to get. Despite how awkward and uncomfortable it would probably have been, Harry felt himself trying very hard not to look like he wished he was there instead. Which he did. He wished he could have invited Draco along to the Weasley's house as well without breaking a million taboos and dooming the wonderful family to the same social status as himself, but he still wished he was at the Burrow.

Malfoy must have noticed Harry's discomfort. He cleared his throat and took Harry's hand.

The gates opened with a flick of Malfoy's wand and they made their way up the drive, Malfoy's trunk and Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage floating along behind them. Hedwig had been allowed to fly ahead, and was presumably socialising with Malfoy's tawny further behind the house.

The crunch of the gravel under their feet was the only sound until they reached the broad steps leading up to the front door. Narcissa must have known they'd arrived. She was standing and waiting for them. It looked as if she had dressed down for the occasion; rather than a frock with furs and pearls (the only thing Harry had ever seen her in, and expected she wore all the time) she wore a simple but strikingly elegant dress with a matching double-breasted jacket.

She hugged Malfoy tightly as Harry stood on the bottom step.

'I missed you, dear,' she said, lightly kissing Malfoy on the cheek. Harry tugged self-consciously on his sleeves. Narcissa turned to face him, and there was a very brief, barely tangible pause. Then she descended onto the bottom step where he stood and gave him an equally warm hug.

'Welcome to our home. I'm so glad you came,' she said, and the tone in which she said it, and the way she looked him plainly in the face as she did, made Harry feel that she wasn't just saying it to be polite.

The room into which the front door opened was wide and the roof stood high. At either side of them rose a stairway, both curving up onto a landing. Under the landing and facing them was another door, smaller but elaborately carved in wood, and this was the door Narcissa led them through. She managed to chat with Malfoy and make some small-talk with Harry simultaneously. It was hard to tell if she had given any thought to what to say before they arrived, but she was steering clear of family topics in favour of asking about his grades and commenting on his nice new suit, and did Draco help him choose it, because it looks like a commission from a family friend.

Harry wondered if she knew how much he knew about their family. The pain and fear and isolation behind the scandal. Either way, she was keeping up the perfect image of the dapper hostess, with just enough informality to help Harry feel less like a peasant.

'Since Dobby was freed and went to work at Hogwarts, we've hired a cook, and he makes the most wonderful chicken marengo. I was thinking of having a late lunch, what do you boys think?'

Harry was relieved that at least the pair of Malfoys looked perfectly comfortable. There was something Mrs Weasleyish about the way Narcissa swooped around rooms and topics as if she belonged nowhere else.

'I thought we were having pissaladière for lunch and chicken marengo for dinner,' Malfoy said.

'I feel like something marinated. Perhaps coquilles saint-jacques and seafood for dinner and both the chicken and the onion tart for lunch? That way we have a variety. Do you have a preference, Potter?'

Harry was caught off-guard, and nothing would come to mind but cheese toasties. He shook his head.

'The chicken sounds good,' he said, for the sake of saying something. Malfoy squeezed his hand.

'Mother, I'm going to take Harry to meet the dogs. We'll meet you in the dining room in an hour.'

'I'll tell Didier that he can begin.'

_Meet you in the dining room_. It made Harry wonder how big the house was. He had never had to tell anyone where he'd be unless they were in the castle or in town.

'She expects everyone to know every French dish in existence,' Malfoy said quietly and apologetically. 'Even I get a bit lost when she starts talking about hors d'oeuvres.'

'That makes me feel a lot better.'

'It's all right, if you don't know what she's talking about, just nod and say it's her choice.'

'Do I have to know which of the six forks and knives and spoons is used for what, or do you just have a plain knife and fork like normal people?'

That earned him a smack upside the head.

**.NB.**

Neville awoke with cottonmouth from having slept with his mouth open. Again. He hoped he hadn't been snoring. Again.

The good thing about holidays, Neville thought, was that he got to sleep in. He rolled over and nuzzled his face into the pillow. It was so warm and cozy.

It took him a moment to realize that today was Christmas Eve. He had better send out Nan's present with his aunt and uncle's, he thought, but that could probably wait a couple more hours. At least until twelve. He could borrow one of the school owls before they officially had the days off until Boxing Day.

The next time he rolled over and looked at his watch, it said 11:00. He rolled out of bed, grunting, and wiped the gunk from his eyes. He shivered as he pulled on a shirt and jumper and wished he had at least wrapped the presents. He was going to get lost on the way, he knew it.

He hurriedly wrapped and addressed the presents, having to start over again with his aunt's because he accidentally ripped the paper, and hurried out of Gryffindor tower, almost forgetting his shoes.

He had forgotten to take his watch and didn't know what time it was by the time he reached the owl's tower. Whatever time it was, it was past 12:00.

The owls had been moved and Filch was cleaning bird poo off every surface he could reach.

'Longbottom. Yer a bit late, I'm afraid,' Filch said, and he didn't look like he was making the least effort to look sincere. 'Family will have to wait a bit to get their presents. Ought to have sent them yesterday.'

'Can't I borrow just one? Just for today?' Neville pleaded, clutching the three packages to his chest so he wouldn't drop them.

'Rules are rules. The owls are on holiday. So should you be. Get back inside, before your face freezes off.'

Neville had no choice. Dejected and feeling guilty for having left it so long, he slumped back indoors. He didn't realize where he was heading until he was facing Madame Pince. He had thought he was walking aimlessly. If he could have stayed outside, he supposed, he probably would have gone to the greenhouses, but inside, the library was the next best thing.

'Looking for something?' the librarian asked, looking at the packages in Neville's arms as if they had no right taking up space in her territory.

'No. I'm fine,' Neville said, and before he disappointed himself further by waiting for someone who wasn't going to arrive, he began to walk out.

'What's in those, Longbottom?' a voice called out. Neville spun around, almost dropping his Nan's gift in the process. A Slytherin was sitting with a small group in a corner. In the process of turning, one of the gifts poking out of his arms had nudged a bookcase and fell to the ground with an ominous crack. The group broke into laughter, and as Neville glanced up to glare at them, he froze. Among them sat Blaise. He looked as impassive and unsmiling as ever, but there he was. He looked straight at Neville, raising and lowering his eyebrows as if he was mildly surprised to see him there, then glanced at the nails on his right hand.

Something about seeing him sitting among his own people made Neville's skin flush and he quickly looked down, deeply embarrassed, an unpleasant feeling roiling inside him. He focused his attention on trying to pick up the package without dropping the others. It clinked as if there was something broken inside it. Marvellous. Now the presents would not only be several days late, thanks to his inability to organise himself, but the one present meant for the woman who had raised him, the woman in hospital, the present had carefully chosen and spent a third of his savings on, was broken.

He left the library amid the stifled giggles of Slytherins who were being told off by Pince.

He was halfway to the Gryffindor tower to put the presents back in his trunk before he heard the footsteps behind him. He walked quicker. He tried to focus his thoughts on what he was going to do about his Na's present, since trying to fix it himself was automatically out of the question.

The footsteps sped up as well. Neville fought the urge to look back.

'Hey,' a voice snapped. Neville slowed to a stop and turned around. Blaise was standing with his arms crossed two meters away.

'Hi,' Neville said. For some bizarre reason, he desperately wanted to cry, but he forced the feeling down.

'So what is in those packages?'

Neville shrugged. 'Presents.'

'You're a bit late in sending them, aren't you?'

Neville shrugged again. His face was still warm. It didn't hit him until later that this was the first time the two of them spoke outside of the secluded safety of the library. It was, in fact, the first time Blaise had sought him out deliberately.

'I thought you said you didn't have an owl.'

'I don't.'

'The school owls are off duty until a couple days after Christmas, you know.'

'I know.'

'So how are you sending them?'

Neville shrugged again. It was getting harder to keep the tears from coming. It was doubly frustrating because he didn't know why he was about to cry. He had to get away. There was no way Blaise could see him cry. It couldn't happen.

Blaise closed his eyes and pinched his nose. 'You really have a talent for messing up, you know.'

Neville surreptitiously wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'Thanks,' he said bitterly.

Blaise looked at Neville's face, and for a second he appeared to be squinting. Neville turned his face so it was more shadowed. They stood in silence while both apparently trying to figure out what to do or say next. Then Blaise sighed.

'Follow me. If you see anyone, duck round the corner or into the shadows.'

Neville didn't ask. He followed. They took a few twists and turns and staircases, but finally they were facing a large portrait. It was of a snake.

'Stay here a moment,' Blaise commanded. Neville sank into the shadows. It was very cold. He guessed they were in the dungeons. There were no windows and very little light aside from that afforded by the torches hanging in brackets on the walls.

He waited for five minutes, feeling more suspicious with every minute that passed that Blaise was playing a trick on him. That he'd be waiting all day. Then one final minute passed, and someone left the dungeon.

'Just this once, alright?' Blaise said firmly. A regal-looking barn owl was perched on his left arm. With the other, Blaise stroked its feathery breast.

'You're lending me your owl?' Neville asked, flabbergasted. 'Really?'

'Just for today. Once he's delivered the presents he'll come straight back to me,' Blaise said. 'He's carried heavier objects over longer distances, so don't worry. Is that all you need to send?' Blaise asked, nodding to the packages. Neville looked at the three of them, barely able to believe that his dilemma had been solved already.

He handed over the first two packages, then looked dejectedly at the third. He supposed, if Nan wrote to him, he could tell her it must have been dropped by the owl. But that would be mean and selfish.

'What?' Blaise asked, after tying the first two to his owl's leg.

'It broke when I dropped it,' Neville admitted, looking down at his Nan's gift. Blaise looked at the present. "Augusta Longbottom" was written plainly on the tag.

'Give it here,' Blaise muttered. He pointed his wand at the gift, which unwrapped itself neatly. The wreckage wasn't too bad. The china vase was mostly intact, except for a wedge-shaped bit that had broken off at the top and a crack running down the side.

'Reparo,' Blaise said, wand trained on the vase. The broken fragment returned immediately to its place as if in response to a command, and the crack sealed itself.

The owl was sent flying off with the three packages and Blaise and Neville began walking wordlessly together up a corridor.

Neville looked at his shoes, suddenly feeling guilty. He had been so suspicious about Blaise's motives, yet here he was, lending Neville his owl when he most needed someone's help. He was touched. Just before they left the dungeons, Neville took a risk and touched Blaise's arm. Blaise didn't shrink away, but he did look at Neville with his eyebrows raised. They may have spent some time in each other's company, but they had never really had any physical contact before.

'Thank you,' Neville said.

'Don't mention it. Honestly. Don't mention it to anyone.'

'No, I mean it,' Neville said seriously. 'Thanks.'

Blaise stared at Neville. Then the corner of his mouth twitched into what may have passed for a smile. 'You're welcome, Longbottom.'


	21. Warm Me Up for the Winter

**Authors Note**

Again, I apologize for the delay in sexytime. This isn't how I usually write. Most of my stories are smut, smut, and moar smut. I kind of like taking my time with these guys, though. As a writer of original stories, writing fanfiction helps me develop my pacing and character-moulding skills, and since I don't usually write long-lasting romantic relationships as main plots, this story is a challenging and enjoyable test for me.

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**.HD.**

There wasn't a lot about Malfoy Manor that Harry found comfortable, but he did like the dogs. There were three, each named after a constellation. Only one constellation was missing.

It didn't feel so wrong to Harry to be reminded of Sirius when he saw them come bounding up to greet their master and guest. Especially the long-legged grey spaniel. They all looked a lot better groomed and purebred than Sirius had. They did all have a friendly, affectionate, if sternly-trained manner.

'They'd make useless guard dogs if we ever decided to use them that way,' Malfoy said fondly, rubbing Taurus behind the ears. 'But they're great listeners.'

Sagitta and Hydra, a pair of almost identical Malamutes, licked at Harry's face and he shuffled down from his kneeling position to sit flat on the ground. It was freezing, with a thin layer of snow, and even though they had laid down a snowproof blanket, the cold was piercing through all the layers of material and into Harry's thighs. He rubbed his legs vigorously to try and stimulate the blood flow.

It took about five minutes of rubbing his legs for Harry to notice that Malfoy was watching him. When their eyes met, Malfoy winked. Harry smiled.

Slowly, but certainly, over the last week, they had been returning to their flirtatious touchy phase. Harry was starting to remember more and more distinctly the way they had been together in that empty Charms classroom, the raw passion and the stroking and kissing. He wanted more of that. In what he had seen of Malfoy's home, it would be hard to generate the same mood. Unless ...

'Draco,' Harry began, wondering how exactly to phrase his question without being too obvious. 'Just out of curiosity ... am I staying in a spare room, or ... could you show me where I'm sleeping tonight?'

**.NB.**

Christmas decorations had been put up several days before Blaise even noticed them. Ironically, because of the nation-wide realization of the Dark Lords' return, more parents were insisting that their children return home for the holidays rather than remain at Hogwarts, so the school's number of students who had stayed on had dropped dramatically. It was possible to walk the halls all day and only come across two or three other students in that whole time. He almost saw more of the teachers.

It had reached an interesting point for Blaise in that he was seeing Neville outside of the library since he had lent him the owl earlier that morning. It was like a personal experiment, though if he was honest, it had reached well beyond that point. The few other Slytherins who had stayed on spent most of their time in the common room or main hall, and the Hufflepuffs in the library or having mini ice-skating parties outside. The six or seven Ravenclaws could be found scattered about, but for the most part, if they found a lonely classroom, they could stay for almost a few hours without being seen.

The thing that was most troublesome of all was the mistletoe. It appeared to make Neville frightfully awkward, though the boy was obviously trying to hide it. Blaise was almost one hundred percent certain of Neville's affection, but he knew he'd have to wait if he really wanted Neville to make the first move. For the sake of his dignity, he had to. He wouldn't go chasing a Gryffindor of his own volition if his life depended on it. No, he told himself, he would remain firm. _Neville_ would go chasing after _him_.

The mistletoe ought to have been helping, Blaise told himself as they loafed around the Astronomy tower on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. He had gathered that this was a favourite haunt of Harry and Draco's, so it certainly set the atmosphere. He spied a clump of mistletoe hanging just over the rails, and deliberately sidled over and stood directly beneath it. As if he hadn't even noticed. He felt almost slutty for throwing opportunity after opportunity in Neville's path.

Neville paused mid-sentence, glancing at the mistletoe before continuing what he was saying.

This could take a while.

'Thanks again for lending me the owl,' Neville said. Blaise rolled his eyes. It was the fifty thousandth time Neville had brought it up.

'I told you, it's no big deal,' Blaise responded tiredly.

'You saved me an awful lot of trouble,' Neville said. He was looking at his hands, which were rubbing and circling around each other like energetic little seals. 'I just wish there was something I could do in return.'

Blaise tried to ignore the barrage of dirty images his brain produced at this offer. Then he looked up at the mistletoe. Then he looked across the rails at Neville, shy, quiet, nervous, self-conscious Neville. And then he broke a promise to himself.

'Come over here, if you mean that,' Blaise said.

**.HD.**

Harry was dazed into muteness. The room he was facing was as expansive and luxurious as it was possible to be. The Gryffindor common room was barely as big. The fireplace alone was higher than a door, with a low brick wall in front of it to keep the ash and wood from spilling to the floor. The fire alone was almost as tall as Harry.

The French windows were half-hidden behind dark drapes, and the carpet looked expensive. Harry felt bad just for walking on it.

All this was nothing, of course, compared to the bed. The canopy hanging over the deep, dark silk sheets was the same pattern as the window hangings. It looked like a designer bed. And it was huge. A two-and-a-half meter square block of soft, sensual, sexy draped material and circular pillows.

Harry jumped when Malfoy appeared behind him.

'I'm sleeping here?' he asked, dumbfounded. He felt Malfoy nod by the way his chin nudged Harry's neck. 'I can't wait to see your room.'

'What are you talking about?' Malfoy breathed. '_This_ is my room.'


	22. WakeUp Call

**Author's Note – !PLEASE READ THIS ONE!**

THIS WILL BE A SHORT WORK-MY-SHIT-OUT CHAPTER. To explain to people who may be wondering what happened with the last two chapters, I will again blame my atrocious use of timeline. In one chapter, I had Harry and Draco arriving at Malfoy Manor two days before Christmas. In the same chapter, Neville wakes up on Christmas Eve. In the next chapter, it is still Christmas Eve for Neville, and still two days before Christmas for da boys. This will be remedied here. Harry will wake up on Christmas Eve, and the day will go extremely quickly. Neville will still be stuck in the afternoon of the same day. Next chapter, everything will be happening on the same day, so as to have less confusion. I apologize for the unprofessional-ness of this. I hope you enjoy anyway!

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**.HD.**

Neville slammed the door to the greenhouse behind him much harder than he'd intended to. If there was anyone taking a stroll within fifty meters, they'd have been able to hear him, for sure. He didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed in his entire life. And that was saying something, considering what a life he'd had.

Neville rubbed his face with his hands, as if to wipe away the furious blush, but he couldn't wipe away the images. What an idiot. What a tool.

The scent of earth and plant life slowly permeated the air around him, and Neville took a look around. There was no-one else in greenhouse 3. Sometimes he'd come across Professor Sprout on his visits, but she was probably inside like a sane person.

It hit him how far he must have run in order to reach this place. All the way from the Astronomy Tower. Without tripping, no less. It only made him feel more embarrassed. Everything was such a mess. What was he going to do? What would Harry do in this situation? He probably wouldn't have stuffed it up in the first place, Neville supposed. _He_ got it right. Notoriously.

Making his way slowly over to a quivering screechsnap plant, Neville tried not to think about how he was going to face Blaise again. If he was. The little green and white and faintly pink flowering snapper had clearly been given too much dragon dung again. Scooping up some of the fertilizer, Neville looked around for the dittany. Sprout was always picking it up and putting it somewhere else, as students and occasionally teachers often raided her supply when they ran out of their own. Neville had found that it had similar healing effects on plants as well as humans, if substantially weaker. It would at least bring a little comfort to the shaking and squeaking plant he was facing.

He found the dittany behind a tentacula, which he petted in order to calm it down so he could get close enough.

With the screechsnap relaxed and settled in its pot, Neville wandered the rest of the greenhouse aimlessly, half looking at the bushes and weeds and flowers around him and half fretting.

If human relationships were like agriculture, Neville thought, he would be such a smooth operator. Of course he had to be an expert at a subject girls are supposed to be good at, and a pure dork when it comes to everything else.

**.HD.**

It slowly occurred to Harry, as he opened his eyes, that this was the very first time he had woken up in Malfoy's bed.

The rest of the night's events groggily returned to his sleep-addled brain, and he grinned to himself. Technically they had only grinded urgently and quietly against each other until reaching simultaneous climax. They hadn't, well ... _done more_. But the experience – in the bedroom, not the Room of Requirement or hidden in a corner, but a proper bedroom – half-naked, kissing furiously, the experience alone felt like a promise of more to come. And Malfoy had said "I love you" at least three times, as they lay sweaty and catching their breath in the aftermath. It was kind of romantic in a dirty way; Harry had come, and he had had time to savour it. He closed his eyes again and shivered with delight. Then he realized that the arm slung over his chest was not his own. A warm body was pressed against the back of his.

With some difficulty, Harry rolled onto his back and was greeted with the sight of half of Malfoy's face squashed into the pillow. His one visible eye was shut, his mouth mostly closed, and his breathing deep and even. His hair stuck up in places, showing that last night's dream about wrestling with an octopus had had a basis. Harry suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to kiss his face. So he did. First he kissed Malfoy's cheek, then the corner of his lips. He felt Malfoy's face contort a little as he woke up, and watched him come into consciousness. Rather than open his eyes properly, Malfoy tightened his arms around Harry and pulled him as close as he could get, until Harry was wheezing and scratching at his shoulders. Then he chuckled and nuzzled his face into Harry's neck.

'G'mornin.'

'Morning.'

'Shwunnzdhuuurr.'

'... I have no idea what you just said.'

Malfoy grunted. Harry poked him in the ribs. Malfoy grabbed Harry's fingers and held onto them to make sure he didn't do it again. Then, by the sound of his breathing and the way his hand relaxed, Harry realized that Malfoy had fallen asleep again.

He waited for a moment before wresting his hand from Malfoy's grasp. Then he pulled the covers up to his chin and prepared himself for a long sleep in.

xxx

It felt like twelve o'clock when they were both ready to get out of bed.

'But it's _cold_.'

'It won't be so bad once you get dressed,' Harry insisted, pulling at Malfoy's arm.

'Yes it will.'

'Wuss. Come on. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to get out of bed.'

'Then let's just staaaay in beeeddd.'

'We have to get up. We've already missed breakfast.'

'Then let's stay in bed till lunch.'

'_Up_.'

'_Naw_.'

Harry didn't notice Narcissa leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing a dark purple gown, until she began to giggle. He wondered how he must look, with his hair sticking up every which way and his old pyjamas (he had managed to get Malfoy to leave the pyjama-buying till after Christmas), and decided not to think about it.

'Is he always this terrible in the morning?' he asked.

'Every single morning,' she affirmed, nodding soberly. 'I loathe to imagine how he gets to classes on time.'

Malfoy lazily tossed a pillow off the bed and wriggled under the blankets while Harry was distracted.

'I'll have Didier whip you up some breakfast. Try pulling all the blankets off,' Narcissa suggested, and swept gracefully from the room. Harry smiled to himself as he took hold of the blankets in his hand. Yes, it was sad that he couldn't go to the Weasley's this Christmas. But there had been no reason for him to be afraid to come here instead. Narcissa was polite and kind to him. She even seemed grateful, rather than tolerant, that Harry was her son's closest companion. He felt slightly ashamed when he thought of all the horrible scenarios he'd imagined before actually meeting her.

He yanked the blankets off the bed and pounced. It felt like it was going to be a good day.


	23. Christmas Eve isn't Carefree and Joyful

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

EDIT: Someone mentioned in a review that it interrupts the reading experience to have Draco referred to by his last name. The reason i did this was partly for consistency, and partly because that is how he is most often referred to in the actual books. However, as a writer, albeit a fanfiction writer, the reader's experience is an important part of the story itself, and Blaise and Narcissa gets first names, so it is a reasonable request. For this chapter and future chapters, i'm referring to Draco by his first name in the DH narrative text as well as dialogue (though Harry has been calling him by his first name for a long time now). In NB narrative text he'll still be Malfoy, because that's how Blaise and Neville think of him.

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**.HD.**

'Is your breakfast all right?' Draco asked quietly, once Narcissa left the room. She ate like a bird – quickly and with deceptive delicacy. She had excused herself with a book in hand.

Harry nodded, unable to answer with his mouth full. It was a simple breakfast, more simple than it's elegant presentation suggested. Harry was quite sure that the plates and cutlery were, in fact, actual silver. But that wasn't what had concerned him and prompted Draco's subtle question.

In the fire, he had caught a glimpse of the Daily Prophet. Narcissa had evidently cast it into the fireplace in a hurry when she heard the boys coming down the staircase. Before the paper crumbled, Harry had caught a glimpse of a face he knew. A face he had woken up to.

The Malfoys were in the paper. Again.

And the more attention they got, the more Voldemort knew. And just because Harry was on holiday, it didn't mean the Death Eaters were. They probably had another scheme in the making, if not one they were already executing.

'I know that face. What is it?'

'Nothing important.'

Breakfast in the Malfoy house was a much more relaxed affair than dinner had been. Perhaps it was the sunlight light slanting over the long black table from the high windows, or the way Draco was still in his dressing gown when they sat down to eat, but the room and the food were much more welcoming and comfortable than it had been the night before. The night before, of course, Harry and Narcissa had still, in a way, been sussing each other out.

What with her husband in Azkaban and the papers vilifying what remained of the family's legacy, Narcissa was behaving more reasonably and with more trust than anyone could have expected of a woman in her position.

In an effort to take off Harry's mind whatever it was that he didn't want to talk about, Draco decided to play with the dogs. Harry wondered about Draco's ability to commit to one thing after he became a lot more interested in taking Harry's clothes off than in putting more on so they'd be warm enough. Somehow, within ten minutes, they managed to put on enough layers to go outside.

This time, the dogs greeted Harry with as much adoring worship as they had greeted Draco, and in particular, they greeted the ball Draco had brought.

Harry had expected himself to be too happy with the dogs for his mind to return to what he had seen in the fireplace. There was no telling what consequences it would have, to have the Malfoy name splashed across the newspaper every other week. What if they became the new public enemy number one? There was so much else to worry about, Harry didn't understand how people couldn't look at the big picture and realize that what went on in Harry's pants and Draco's home was not as big a deal as ...

'For Merlin's sake, Harry. It's Christmas Eve.'

Harry didn't look up. He could see, from the corner of his eye, Sagitta butting Draco's leg and licking his gloved hand.

'I think she wants the ball,' Harry said. Draco sighed. Changing the subject used to be his thing, when he could get away with it. He pointedly hurled it a good twenty-five yards.

'You might have made a good chaser,' Harry commented, as Sagitta went bounding joyfully after it. Draco shrugged. 'I might have made a good person,' he replied blithely.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He was stunned. It hadn't crossed his mind to think that his lover still might feel guilty about how long it took him to decide that the right side was not the dark side.

Cautiously, Harry slipped his hand into Draco's, gently, and left it there. Sagitta returned, and Hydra and Taurus decided they wanted to play too, so Harry had to release Draco's hand for a moment, just long enough to wrangle the ball from Sagitta's determined jaws and toss it as far as he could. The dogs launched themselves after it.

And Draco launched himself at Harry.

**.NB.**

He ought to have gone back down to the dungeons. It was getting dark and he wasn't the kind of student that wandered the corridors at night. But here he was, up in the Astronomy tower, standing next to the empty space where Neville had been a few hours ago.

He knew it was exactly where Neville had been, because he was standing under the mistletoe again.

It wasn't a romantic thing. He wasn't that pathetic. He just wished the situation had gone a bit better than it had. It wasn't as if Blaise didn't have the experience. He'd seduced people before, experimented in different techniques and strategies over past holidays, with his parent's friends or co-workers' protégées and sons and daughters. He knew Neville's personality and his limits. He thought he had been quite charming, even if he was more obvious than he was fond of being. He had had to adjust that, for the obvious reason that Neville was thick as a wall at Gringott's.

This all led him to the inevitable conclusion that it was all Neville's fault and the boy needed another chance to do it right. After all, he was knee-deep in this situation already. The least Blaise could do, in his opinion, was make sure he got something memorable out of it.

He heard steps on the staircase behind him. So Neville had received his owl.

'We'll get in trouble if we're caught up here,' Neville said. Blaise turned and nodded a more formal greeting. 'What was it you wanted to talk about?' Neville asked. He had stopped a good few feet from where Blaise stood, and looked painfully uncomfortable.

'I was hoping there would be less talking this evening. Talk is boring,' Blaise said casually.

'Then what ...' Neville stopped mid-sentence and glanced up at the mistletoe above Blaise's head, before blushing madly and looking away.

'Oh, come on. You can come closer,' Bliase said teasingly, trying to drain some of the tenseness from the air. Neville obeyed, in the form of a few shuffling steps forward. 'Closer,' Blaise said, more pointedly. He would make a bigger advance himself, but he was putting more effort into this Gryffindor than he ever had for anyone. Even if he _had_ solidly caught Blaise's attention, some kind of status quo had to be maintained.

Or so he kept repeating to himself. Honestly, the more Blaise had to repeat those rules to himself, the more tired and irritating they seemed. They held him back, more than anything. Anything that stopped him from getting tail had to have a solid basis behind it, and the solid basis behind the ambiguous laws concerning courting between Gryffindors and Slytherins was starting to appear less and less solid and more and more full of wank.

So in half a second, Blaise decided something. And in that other half a second he acted on it, because Blaise Zabini is not a man to waste time. For the first time in his life, he did some reckless and unthinking. And he never really regretted it.

He strode forward and kissed Neville Longbottom squarely on the mouth.

In the space of a few mind-blanked seconds, Blaise registered that the momentum of his movement had caught Neville off-balance and they had moved a few steps in order to compensate. They were about a meter from a wall. Blaise opened his eyes, surprised to realize that he'd closed them, and inspected Neville's face in the dim light. To his inner delight, Neville's cheeks were flushed, his lips parted in slack-jawed shock, and his eyes wide but darkened by an unexpected spike of desire. Satisfied that all the signs showed a more-than-positive reaction, Blaise's hands made themselves at home, one holding Neville's chin just in case he got any ideas of shifting backwards, and one on Neville's hip, just close enough to the curve of his bum to tease him a little and just far enough to claim decency.

'Get it yet?' Blaise asked plainly in a "duh" whisper, leaning in close enough to feel Neville's short breathing, and claimed that mouth again, this time licking a thin wet stripe over Neville's lower lip with the very tip of his tongue before lightly pressing his own to it, letting the top lip enclose his own, enticing Neville to join in.

To his further delight, he felt from his hold on Neville's hip that his legs were growing weak, and used that as an excuse to back Neville firmly against the wall behind him and hold him there. Neville didn't protest.

Blaise almost wanted to chuckle at the sweet gesture; Neville's hands were on his shoulders. Then the moment was suddenly ripped from his control. Neville had pushed him away.

Blaise took a moment to collect himself. Neville had _pushed_ him _away_.

And it _hurt._

Why did it hurt?

'Don't mess with me,' Neville said, slightly shakily, obviously trying to sound a lot steadier than he was. 'Don't ... if you do that, don't do it to mess with me.'

Blaise felt a familiar distancing look cross his face. _What other reason would I do it for?_ He wanted to ask. And then he hesitated.

What other reason? Why did he do it? He wanted to make a point, didn't he?

Neville stood quietly, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation. A few seconds passed with neither boy saying a word. Then Neville's shoulders dropped a little lower. There was a tired sort of element to his face. He pushed away from the wall, and made to turn. Blaise stopped him.

'What?' Neville snapped.

'What do you think?' Blaise snapped in return. 'I try to have one moment with you that isn't frustrating or mediocre, and you have to ruin it by being so bloody sensitive.'

'So this was some sort of game? You were bored? Is that it?'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, Longbottom,' Blaise snapped. He shoved Neville back against the wall. 'Serves me right for thinking for a moment that you might have a brain. You'd think a kiss would be a pretty obvious indicator, but _nooo_. Longbottom needs it spelled out for him.'

Without letting Neville get a word in, Blaise sealed his mouth shut with a kiss. In this kiss there was more pressure than before. More dominance. It was a how-dare-you-make-me-lose-composure kiss. The kind of kiss that follows a fight between two people who can barely stand one another, and can barely stand to be apart.

And when it ended, Neville eyed Blaise with wariness, an edge of fear. Blaise took a few steps back, and nearly stumbled. The lack of dignity in the situation was killing him. It was supposed to be easy, dammit. Seducing Gryffindors had to be easy if spoiled ponce Malfoy could seduce Potter, surely he could bag one of his own, especially a stupid, unconfident, crying Gryffindor who could barely tie his own shoelaces.

Hang on a tic ... _crying_?

Neville was trying in vain to cover his face with his sleeve under the weak pretense of wiping his lips.

Bugger. Really? How was he supposed to deal with this situation? A horrible and unfamiliar sensation of failure filled Blaise.

'I have got a brain,' Neville sniffed. 'I _have_. I'm not stupid, or worthless, and I'm not a toy. And if all you want is a roll in the hay, go find some other stupid git. I'm done with all of this rubbish.'

And with that, still sniffling and red-eyed, Neville stamped away down the hall. Blaise fancied he could still hear him for five minutes after he rounded the corner.

And then, he swore he could see his face in the paintings he passed as he aimlessly trudged through the corridors.

He barely realized he had reached the dungeon. Neville's voice had followed him, echoing along the dark stone.

And as he bathed, and changed, and lay down in his large cold bed, Blaise was sure he could still feel Neville's trembling hands clasping his shoulders.


	24. The Present

.**Neville&Blaise**.

It was one hour to midnight. One hour till Christmas. And Neville was sitting awake, alone, by the fire in the common room of Gryffindor Tower.

He hadn't gone down to the feast. For some reason the very thought made him miserable. He'd gotten dressed, and in his good robes, too. But he couldn't bring himself to go and try to cheer himself up. Ron, Dean and Seamus, even if they could be called his friends still, had gone home for the holidays. Ginny had gone with her family. Hermione, gone. And Harry was with his boyfriend. At a mansion.

Why he felt so dejected was not a mystery to Neville. He'd known for a while, even if he had nearly fooled himself into thinking everything was fine. He'd known that his feelings for Blaise ran deeper than a tentative friendship. Much deeper. And Blaise had flirted. Neville thought that should have felt good. Perhaps it had been the pure transparency of the Slytherin boy's actions. There was no affection in the way he enticed Neville under the mistletoe. His manner wasn't sincere. It was without warmth, somehow. It was calculated. Whatever the hell it was, it sure wasn't budding romance.

Neville sulkily picked apart the scrap of parchment he'd found under the couch, and flicked bits of it into the dancing light of the fire. Alone on Christmas.

It wasn't the first time. He'd stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas before. But this year he felt completely barren of all positive emotion.

Rolling over on the couch to lie with his back to the fireplace, Neville couldn't stop his mind from straying to the source of his self-imposed isolation. He wondered what Blaise was doing. Possibly relaying the whole hilarious scene to his Slytherin pals of tearful, miserable Longbottom, and how he ran away with his tail between his legs from the prospect of a little hanky-panky with someone way out of his reach. _That's right_, Neville thought. _He's out of my reach. He's a dirty bastard, but he's completely out of my reach_. Famous relatives. Rich family. Pureblood family. Old, rich, pureblood family. _Dirty, cruel bastard._

"_I'm neutral" my arse_, Neville continued to sulk. Blaise would probably become a Death Eater and specializing in torturing victims by mind-fucking them.

He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep, but the suddenness of having someone push his feet off the couch so they could sit down shocked Neville out of a reverie. He didn't lift his head to see who it was. He didn't know why, but he hoped he could pretend to be asleep and eventually they'd leave.

Surreptitiously, he shifted his wrist and took a peek at the time. It was almost 2:00 in the morning. Christmas. It was Christmas.

Something rectangular and wrapped in paper landed on the dip between Neville's hip and shoulder. It made him wriggle slightly in discomfort. He was ticklish on his sides. He had to sit up.

The sight, when he opened his eyes, made him freeze.

The thing wrapped in paper was a present. Going by the weight and feel, it was probably a book. And the wrapping paper was slightly iridescent, purple and black and white like the night sky, glowing faintly with stars. A tiny corner of his mind registered that he'd unwrap the present carefully so he could keep it.

The person who had dropped the present on his side was staring moodily at the fireplace, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. And he certainly shouldn't have been in Gryffindor tower.

'How did you get in here?' Neville asked in a low whisper. He wasn't sure if it sounded sultry or suspicious, but he would have felt strange speaking any louder, as if the delicate situation might break.

'Hexed a first-year into giving me the password,' Blaise muttered. 'And then threatened the painting when she didn't want to let me in.'

'Lovely,' Neville responded. He looked at the gift. 'What's this?'

Blaise looked as if he was trying very, very hard not to say "are you thick?". He rubbed his forehead and glanced at Neville, then looked away as though staring into the fire was more comfortable on his eyes.

'It's a present.'

Neville looked at it. Well, duh. 'I know that. But, what is it?'

'Open it.'

Neville slowly sat up, crossing his legs underneath him and turning the present over a few times. He managed to get the paper off without tearing it too badly, then set it aside on the coffee table.

He stared at the book very hard, until his eyes were nearly bugging out of his skull. It wasn't vanishing in a puff of smoke. It was authentic. And it was first-edition.

Blaise chuckled and Neville finally looked up at him. The chuckle dissipated and Blaise sank into a serious demeanour, one Neville wasn't sure he'd seen before. He'd seen his swagger and confidence and quiet sophistication, and his casual fuck-the-world attitude. He hadn't seen that seriousness. Blaise looked intent. He looked _determined_.

'It took me a while to find that,' Blaise said. 'Money isn't a problem, but if it isn't the one you want ...'

Neville intended to say "I've been looking for a cheaper second-hand copy of this book for three years and it's all I've ever wanted in the universe", but it came out as a strangled squeak. Blaise took the interruption in his stride, and explained his luck at meeting a rare book dealer at a conference of his parent's last winter, and how fortunate it was that the man could be contacted by owl and how Hogwarts should update their copy, because the pages were falling out. Neville turned the book over in his hands. It was in amazing condition. First edition. That meant it was over a hundred years old. The first ever comprehensive encyclopaedia of magical _and non-magical_ flora across the world, from the obscurest root in Thailand to the common mandrake (and every known subspecies), all with detailed illustrations, hand-drawn by the author.

And he was holding it. In his hands.

'You really ... this is for me?'

'Yes.'

'It's not a joke?'

'A _jo _... Longbottom, _really_,' Blaise exclaimed, glaring. 'I wouldn't go this far just to play some elaborate prank on you. Surely you aren't expecting it to explode in your hands.'

Neville clutched the book to his chest instinctively.

Blaise stared at him for a moment, then turned down to his hands, fingers criss-crossed, still resting between his knees. He looked crestfallen. 'Is that ... really what you expect from me?'

Neville couldn't think what to say. He was still reeling from the gift. Then he looked at the book again, the precious, wonderful thing he held in his arms, and thought of who had given it to him. The truth hit him like a snowball in the face.

'You were looking ... in the library! You were looking at the books in the herbology section and writing things down. You were checking the identification numbers of the books! That was why you were just looking at them briefly and putting them back. You weren't studying. You were trying to find a ...'

'A present. For you. You're impossible to buy for, you know. Even though you only have one interest in the world, and it's in the ground with the weeds and the earthworms.'

Neville mentally shrank into a ball. The lurch from the lonesome misery he felt before to now, to Blaise, sitting next to him in the Gryffindor common room, a place where any Slytherin would break out in hives, and giving him a present ... it was so absurd he thought he'd burst into hysterics.

'This ... this is the best present anyone has ever bought for me. This is ... this is ...'

For the second time that day, Neville started crying in front of Blaise Zabini, and now he wasn't even sure why. He wasn't sad, was he? Not at a time like this. It could be sheer happiness. He was cautious to get too positive too soon, but what option was there? Neville was lost.

Blaise reached over and folded a loose corner of Neville's robes over the book so his tears wouldn't damage it. Neville covered his face with his sleeve. When Blaise managed to yank his hand away from his face, Neville saw him holding a tissue.

'Thanks,' he muttered, not trusting himself to talk normally in case his voice broke.

'You're welcome. And merry Christmas, by the way. I think I forgot to say that bit at the beginning.'

Neville laughed, then wiped his tears away and blew his nose self-consciously.

The wrapping paper on the coffee table glittered in the light of the fire. On the couch, two figures sat half-facing each other, one with a book in his lap and the other absently playing with the edge of his robes and humming with his eyes closed. They didn't need to talk. Not when they sat together in the library, and not now. The most comfortable moments had always been the silent ones, when they didn't need to talk. They were just together. Peaceful.

Of all the revolutions to belong to. Dumbledore's Army had taught him to be stronger, given him more confidence than he'd had as a child. Being an unofficial member of the young Order of the Phoenix had given him a sense of pride and purpose he'd barely felt before.

But belonging to the first generation of Gryffindor/Slytherin couples, assuming there might be more ... Neville didn't know how to feel about that.

But that's not to say he felt bad. Not at all. Not any more.

When they later moved to the boys' dormitory, knowing another student may find them, they wound up laying side-by-side on Neville's bed, both now holding books, feet touching.

A few minutes after Blaise lowered his book and shut his eyes, Neville realized that the boy had fallen asleep. He gently removed the book from Blaise's hand, and debated what to do. Blaise looked calm and handsome, eyes closed, body relaxed and heavy in slumber. There were no other boys from Neville's year in the dorm until after the holidays, so no-one was going to walk in. Perhaps he could let Blaise nap, let him sleep here. But would his fellow Slytherins notice his bed empty in the morning? It would be harder for Blaise to get out of Gryffindor tower unnoticed in the morning. There were way fewer people left in the castle now, true, but he didn't want any resentment from Blaise, not so soon in ... whatever this thing between them was.

The problem was solved for him when Blaise murmured and rolled onto his side. An arm swung around Neville's waist and tugged, until he shuffled closer. Blaise mumbled on, and Neville heard, unmistakeably, his name.

Laying down and trying not to grin too hard, Neville settled into the arms that sluggishly began to encircle and hold him. No way in hell was he waking Blaise up just yet.


	25. All I Want For Christmas

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Here we go. The moment of truth has arrived.

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**Harry&Draco**

It was at least two hours until midnight. Harry was still reeling from dinner. The Malfoy's French cook really did treat food as an art form. He could barely believe that one human being could cook so much, let alone have every dish look like a painting of itself (Harry felt guilty demolishing the masterpiece that was his main course) but then he remembered Mrs Weasley. The closer it got to Christmas Day, the more he caught himself thinking of them. Then he reminded himself of where he was, and why. He couldn't feel sad so close to Christmas, especially not with Draco there.

To Draco's credit, he had stopped looking accusatory whenever Harry grew silent and apprehensive. He was starting to accept that it was something he couldn't change. That having been said, Harry thought as he slumped on the bed, there was one thing Draco could do to distract Harry from all other thought. And he was doing it right at that moment.

Draco pulled his shirt over his head and fell backwards onto the sheets, eyes closed. He had already removed his shoes and socks, and Harry had sighed with relief when Draco had taken off his tie. Why anyone would _wear a tie at home_ was beyond him.

'This must be what pregnancy feels like,' Draco groaned, patting his belly, which did look to have increased in size by at least a couple of inches.

They hadn't left the dinner table together; Draco had left to quickly speak to Didier before returning, after Narcissa had retired to one of the parlours, where Harry later found her. The way she had sprung up from her seat told him that she was either wrapping a present or hiding something. And then he had seen parcels, and at least two owls in the room which did not belong to the Malfoy family. Someone had sent presents.

And someone had sent presents in brown wrapping paper, which looked remarkably similar to the wrapping paper the Weasley's typically used.

Narcissa had arranged the packages all beneath the Christmas tree (large, ostentatiously decorated, with a glittering star on top), and as soon as Harry caught sight of the address scrawled in Weasley-style handwriting she had ushered him from the room. But not before he glimpsed the letter she was writing back.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts again by a hand that landed on his thigh. Draco stopped rubbing his face tiredly and let his arms fall sideways. They lay in silence for a moment.

'I'm wondering whether to give you your present now, or later,' Draco sighed.

'What kind of present is it?' Harry asked. Draco turned his head and grinned lecherously. Harry swatted his arm. Draco caught Harry's hand and pulled him across the bed until they lay facing each other, legs tangled and still hanging partly over the end of the bed.

'I'm giving you two presents, actually,' Draco purred, running one hand down Harry's back. 'That's why I wouldn't go all the way last night.'

'You want our first time to be on Christmas Eve?' Harry asked, incredulous.

'I'm sentimental. Shut up,' Draco replied, kissing Harry's lips to silence the laughter before it started. Rather than laugh, Harry felt strangely touched. Every now and again, Draco would do something unexpectedly sweet, and here they both were, finally going to do it, and it was going to be a Christmas present.

'Hang on,' Harry said, pulling away from the kiss for a moment while he still had the ability to speak. '_Two_ presents?'

'Yes,' Draco said. He started undoing Harry's shirt buttons, in a slightly more haphazard way than usual. 'I'm not a cheapskate. Of course I'm giving you a present that involved paying for something. Something I can give you tomorrow morning, in the main room, with mother there. This,' he said, before biting Harry's nipple a little harder than expected, 'is more of a private thing. An ... intimate thing.'

The idea of such a grand holiday resulting in the ultimate romantic effect of such a personal, intimate act made Harry's head spin, so he decided to focus on the moment instead. Draco was slowly sliding down his body as he tackled the buckle of Harry's pants, which finally came off and were thrown to the floor.

'Hang on,' Harry said. He was surprised to hear his own voice sound so breathless. He half sat up, and removed his glasses. 'You're still wearing your pants.'

Draco smiled.

Harry's shoes and socks were abandoned on the floor, and his glasses on the nightstand, as Draco took off the last of his clothing. It crossed Harry's mind that this was the first time they had both been entirely naked. Even the moment in the charms classroom (it felt like such a long time ago now), when Harry had been pinned to the floor and completely in the buff, Draco had been wearing pants. It might have added to the solemnity of the moment if Draco hadn't lunged for Harry's throat and hung on like a leech.

'Your hickey ... from last night ...' Draco said, in between licking and biting. 'It's already faded a little.'

'That doesn't mean you have to make it a permanent one,' Harry gasped, trying to grab a handful of hair to pull Draco's head back. The shock of the sudden weight of a naked body atop his, flat on his back on the bed, was going straight to Harry's head and he had a very sudden desire to kiss. A desire Draco happily indulged.

As they slowly writhed, tongues teasing each other and lips wet, Harry felt Draco's cock push up against his own, and bucked. They weren't grinding through thin layers of cotton or linen this time. This was it. And it felt _fantastic_.

It had vaguely crossed Harry's mind earlier on that foreplay might be nice. But, without any apparent lead-up, he found himself very ready to get serious. Draco was of the same opinion. He dove downwards before Harry had time to get his bearings, and without warning, Harry found his twitching cock engulfed in an impossibly warm mouth.

Harry pushed the moan back down, but it came out anyway, long and low. He pushed himself up on his elbows, entranced. Time slowed down. Draco's eyes were closed, as his head bobbed and his hands held Harry's thighs, not too tightly, but not gently either. His tongue was massaging the rod pressed up against it, and Harry dazedly recognized the way Draco would explore Harry's mouth in the same way when they kissed. It was as if he was trying to memorize every inch of Harry's flesh with his tongue.

Harry spread his legs further and drew his knees up. Draco, appreciating the extra space, shifted his elbows and moved his right hand to the base of Harry's cock.

Harry lay back and closed his eyes. He could still see, in his minds' eye, Draco's eyes shut, Harry's dick disappearing between those stretched pink lips ... Harry tangled his fingers in Draco's white-blonde hair and pulled lightly. Draco slowed down. He was letting Harry set the pace.

Harry pushed Draco's head down experimentally, and felt the back of Draco's throat contract. He heard a faint choking sound. Draco placed his own hand over Harry's, to signal that it was okay. Harry pushed down harder, and it didn't register until he felt a nose against his abdomen. He was all the way down Draco's throat.

Another moan escaped, and he started to lift his hips as he held Draco's head in place. Teeth lightly scraped at the base of his dick, but it didn't hurt. Draco was being careful to keep his mouth wide open, but his throat tightened, and he still choked a little, but that made it all the sexier. Both his hands were on Harry's legs again, and he was gripping tighter, pulling Harry against his face. Then he began to groan.

The vibrations seemed to go right up Harry's spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw stars. Draco was sucking in earnest now, constricting his throat deliberately. _Swallowing_. As if Harry's dick was a large candy cane and he hadn't tasted sugar in years. Their sounds of pleasure mingled in the warm air of the bedroom, one stifled and muffled, the other growing more recklessly loud by the second.

Harry thrust up, pushing Draco's head down hard as he did, and felt Draco choke, felt his body jolt between his legs, felt fingernails digging into his thighs. He felt hot. He felt desperate. The world compressed around him, a tongue was writhing against his shaft, licking at his base, and the groaning sounds were turning to unabashed slurps. He couldn't control his body. His hips were snapping up, seeking more friction, more of that delicious mouth.

Harry's moan suddenly tailed off, and he put both hands on the back of Draco's head. He cried out. Draco choked again. Harry came, and he came hard.

There was a still moment, a recuperating moment, as Harry lay gasping and slowly opened his eyes. Stars were still flashing lazily, but they diminished as Draco pulled himself up on his elbows. Harry lifted his head, unwilling to move the rest of his body.

The sight that greeted his eyes made him melt slowly back into the pillows. Draco's perfect hair was sticking up in places. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were so dark they seemed almost black. And his lips were reddish pink, swollen, tongue poking out between them. At the edge of his mouth was a trace of white.

The wiry muscles of his shoulders and arms showed through Draco's pale skin as he pulled himself up to the pillows and stretched out languidly beside Harry. The pair of them lay in silence, staring at the dark canopy above the bed. Sweat cooled on skin until, wordlessly, they shuffled under the blankets and into each other's arms.

There was something about the touch of Draco's lips against Harry's forehead that made him speak.

'May I return the favour?'

Draco chuckled. 'It wasn't a favour. It was part of your present.'

Harry kissed Draco's chin. 'Still. Let it be part of my present to you.'

Draco lowered his head to better reach Harry's lips, and Harry was strangely aroused to taste himself, a lingering, subtle flavour, on Draco's tongue. 'I can think of something better you can do with your mouth right now.'

The kiss deepened, and Draco pushed his way between Harry's legs until their cocks were once again grinding against each other. Draco's hands swept down Harry's back to his bum, where one of them stayed, lightly squeezing, while the other strayed to Harry's dick again and started to rub. Harry felt himself getting hard again.

Not wanting to be on the receiving end of all the attention, Harry reached down to touch Draco's cock. It vaguely registered in his mind that he hadn't touched it directly like this before, but the thought, along with all others, left his mind when he began to stroke in earnest and Draco gasped and sighed into the kiss. His was slightly longer than Harry's, straight and hard as a spear, and Harry could imagine himself choking on it the way Draco had choked on his.

Draco pulled away suddenly, and scrabbled for his wand on the nightstand. Harry watched as he summoned something from under the bed. A bottle, no larger than a snitch.

'What's that?'

'Oil. Specifically for this kind of thing.'

Harry bit his lip. On impulse, he reached down to touch himself as Draco emptied a few drops onto the fingertips of his right hand. Putting the bottle aside, Draco indicated to Harry to roll onto his front.

Harry felt a tingle of anticipation. He hadn't waited for something for so long, and had it all arrive in a heady rush, not since he was eleven and all his dreams came true in one dramatic moment on one stormy night. Sappy as it was to think of it as a dream coming true, it was. He felt complete.

Draco kissed Harry's shoulder and knelt between his spread legs.

'Ready?' Draco whispered.

Harry nodded.

Draco slipped his hand down between Harry's cheeks, and teased the hole there. Harry silently thanked the gods he'd had a thorough bath before dinner. Draco took his time, but not shyly, all the while kissing Harry's shoulders and the back of his neck. Then he pushed one finger in.

It hurt a little, more than Harry had expected. He tried to relax. Something a lot bigger was going in there soon, after all. Before he was ready, a second finger entered, and he grunted and spread his legs further. Draco sucked on the back of his neck and slowed down, but he kept on. Slow, but relentless, he pushed in, deeper. Then he started to rub.

It took a while, but Harry started to arch his back. It still hurt, but there was an undertone of pleasure to it. Draco sped up, started pushing the two fingers in deeper, more erratically. Suddenly he shoved a third finger in, and Harry hissed. But he still arched back. The pain was starting to feel good. Draco, with his other hand, pinched Harry's left nipple and his teeth scraped his skin. The three fingers were going in as deep as Draco could get them, deaf to Harry's whines, only receptive to the way his body was straining back into the rough treatment of its own accord.

He slowly pulled his three fingers out and quickly spelled them clean. Then he settled atop Harry, resting his weight on the curve of Harry's bum, sliding his slick, wet cock between Harry's cheeks.

Draco pressed open-mouthed kisses to the back of Harry's neck. He was breathing heavily.

'Put it in,' Harry whispered. He could feel the desperation in the way Draco's toes were curling up against Harry's ankles. He could hardly imagine the self-control Draco was trying to use.

At Harry's quiet request, Draco let go of that self-control.

It wasn't slow or careful, the way it had been at first. In one sudden strike, Draco rammed the entire length of his hard cock inside Harry's tender hole and left it buried there as Harry bucked and groaned, holding his writhing legs down with the weight of his body.

After a few pained seconds, Harry grew accustomed to the stinging burn. Draco was panting, face pressed against the dip between Harry's neck and shoulder, fighting the insane urge not to wait until Harry adjusted. Neither could concentrate. Harry spread his legs as far as he could and tried to relax.

'Fuck ... Harry, I need ... you're so ... Merlin, Harry ...' Draco struggled to speak, voice husky. He was already starting to roll his hips out of frustration, in and out of Harry's abused hole.

'Slow,' Harry gasped. 'Stop for a second.'

Draco stilled. Harry turned his head just enough to see that Draco was biting his lower lip, hard. Trying to make himself be gentle. Harry wriggled a little.

'Maybe if we try a different position.'

They both held off temptation for long enough to sit up. Without separating, they managed to manoeuvre until Harry lay on his side, one leg up against Draco's chest and hooked over his shoulder, other leg straddled between Draco's thighs, Draco's dick still inside him. Then Draco gave in and surged forward, burying his full length inside Harry again. This time Harry flinched and whined for another reason entirely.

'I think ... oh, fuck ... do that ...'

Draco gingerly slid his cock in and out of Harry's body, watching his features contort in ecstasy and pain, gaining momentum as he saw ecstasy take over. Harry started to pull, grasping at Draco's knees, any inch of skin within reach, as the gentleness began to break down against the surging lust.

'_Faster._'

It wasn't just lovemaking anymore. It was more brutal, more desirous, more needy than that. All the sexual frustration Harry had felt weeks upon weeks ago was resurfacing. All the passion in Draco's expression when they looked at each other was escaping. Draco lost all sense of rhythm, heaving and thrusting and drilling deep and hard, and Harry could have sworn that if he wasn't loving it so much, he'd be crying in pain. It didn't just feel like a rod of flesh stabbing into him. It felt like a large jackhammer.

Grabbing Harry's cock in his right hand, gripping Harry's leg with the other, Draco slammed his hips forward and fucked Harry with rapidly growing desperation. They sped toward orgasm.

Harry pushed his face into a pillow, practically crying with physical bliss. He bit down hard, hand still grasping blindly at Draco's leg, finally finding purchase and pulling hard. A roar was ripped from Harry's throat and he came, for the second time that night, spurts of white staining the sheets, just as he felt something oozy and thick fill him from the inside. Draco was coming inside him.

Draco held Harry's body tightly against him until he finished, then slowly, gently, slid out of Harry's exhausted, heaving body.

Harry winced as he lowered his leg. A powerful ache was still riding him, extending dully up his spine.

Draco snuggled up against Harry's back, nudging a knee between Harry's, and he realized that he was still very wet between the legs.

At that moment, for some strange reason, Harry felt like he needed to check the clock.

Reaching down to find his pants on the floor by the bed, Harry fished out his watch from his pocket without fully withdrawing from Draco's arms. As he held the watch close enough to his face to see the time, it struck 12:00.

Harry rolled onto his side and looked at Draco, grinning sleepily.

'Merry Christmas.'

Draco stared with heavily lidded eyes at Harry. Then he leaned in, and chastely kissed Harry's lips.

'Merry Christmas, sweetheart.'

Harry wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he knew for many years later that when he did, his lover was cradling him in his arms, and presents from his family and friends were under the Christmas tree, and all the evil in the world couldn't have destroyed that night, when _just for once_, everything felt exactly the way it should.


	26. What We've Gained

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Sorry for making you guys wait. A ridiculous amount of crazy shit has happened within the past two months and a lot of stuff has needed sorting out. I hope to finish this story properly before next month, so hold on! I'm not going to let myself rush the end of this story when I know so many lovely, loyal readers (and new ones too) have been patiently looking forward to how it ends.

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**.NB.**

Neville woke up to a sore face and an unexpected sight. A handsome, dark-skinned young man was laying beside Neville, resting on his elbow, and pinching Neville's nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Neville shook his head until Blaise let go, and lifted his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes, vaguely registering that one of them had been resting on Blaise's side.

'G'mornin,' Neville said, then sat bolt upright. 'Oh! Merry Christmas!'

Blaise chuckled.

'Merry Christmas. Has anyone told you that you snore?'

'Oh ... no,' Neville said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Going from sleepy to excited to extremely self-conscious, all within the space of a few seconds, was making him feel flustered and amplifying his desire to go straight back to sleep. He barely felt that he had properly awoken.

'You also didn't wake me up,' Blaise admonished. 'I slept in. This is the first time I've slept in in years.'

'I ... I'm sorry,' Neville said, unsure of how to reply. Blaise smiled.

'I intended to thank you for that, actually. It's a pleasure not to wake up before six thirty for once. It was ... agreeable, sleeping here. You have a very comfortable body, and a decent bed. Except for these horrible colours. I don't know how you cope sleeping under such a disgusting shade of scarlet.'

Neville let Blaise talk as he adjusted to the morning. It was a strange one, but an unexpectedly good one. Waking up with anyone in his bed, let alone Blaise, was a situation he'd never had the imagination to fantasize about. Yet here Blaise was, reclining comfortably next to him, as if he owned the entire room.

And it was Christmas.

'You look awfully goofy all of a sudden. What are you smiling about?'

'It's Christmas. And you're here.'

Blaise was momentarily at a loss for words, and Neville used it as a chance to lean forward and kiss him. He didn't know why. It was an impulsive action. He made sure to keep his mouth closed in case he had morning breath.

Blaise seemed to approve of the direction the morning was taking. His lips became pliant and encouraging under the gentle pressure of Neville's kiss, and he even placed his hand on the side of Neville's neck, lazily stroking with his thumb.

'You're warm,' Blaise mumbled into the kiss. He wrapped an arm around Neville's middle and used his surprisingly strong limbs to roll Neville's body on top of his, holding tight and pushing his face into Neville's collar. Shocked into complacency, Neville lay where he was, feeling the firmness of Blaise's body and the fine texture of last night's clothing.

'Don't be so stiff. And I _am_ talking about your muscles. It's unforgivably drafty in here, and I need you to be my human blanket until I feel like getting up.'

Neville grinned into the pillow and acquiesced, settling his arms so they covered Blaise's sides and letting his legs fall to either side of his guests'. A quick glance at the watch on his bedside table told him it was mid-morning already. He figured he could spend another half an hour or so in this position.

**.HD.**

'We need a wash,' were the first words Harry heard on Christmas morning.

Draco was still half-laying on top of Harry, legs and arms splayed in various directions, face-down on a pillow. His statement had been muffled, and by the way his entire body stayed completely still, it seemed to Harry like he was lacking in motivation.

Harry himself didn't feel like moving. He felt far too comfortable where he was, and his arse was still very achy. He already wondered if Narcissa would notice him limping.

'Should I wear the suit you bought me today, or just normal clothes?' Harry asked. He couldn't believe himself for asking such a ... well, _gay_ question, but the expectations were different in this house, he felt. It was a question that needed asking to avoid a faux pas of national scale. Narcissa was tolerant, but she was still very much a lady, and a rich one, with a very fancy house.

Harry struggled out from under Draco's torso and managed to locate his watch. He held it up to his face to check the time.

'Bugger!'

'Dear Lord, yes please.'

'No, I mean, it's almost nine-thirty!'

'So? I'm tired.'

'The rest of the world doesn't slow down to accommodate your desire to nap.'

'The rest of the world isn't joining us for Christmas.'

'Your mother is. What if she's already waiting for us?'

'She's very good at criticizing my sleeping habits. I don't suppose she mentioned who I inherited my laziness from?'

'That's not the point. Come on,' Harry said, wriggling and kicking his way out of bed, managing to get Draco's arms and chest out from under the covers before he seriously decided to fight back and wrench Harry onto the mattress.

Harry barely had time to realize they were both still naked before Draco trapped his arms underneath him, and throwing the sheets around his middle, tightening them and dragging Harry into his embrace.

'You're trapping me here.'

'Exactly.'

'To avoid getting out of bed.'

'That's just about the size of it.'

'If you have so much energy, why don't you use it to get dressed?'

'Look at this from my perspective for once, Harry. In a choice between having you naked and at my mercy, or doing something productive that leads to being clothed and unable to sex you up for the rest of the morning, which would I realistically choose? Honestly, it's as if you don't know me at all.'

Harry sighed and feigned continued annoyance. Draco was gently nibbling his earlobe.

'Just let me make you come,' Draco whispered obscenely, 'then I'll run us a bath. I promise.'

Without waiting for permission, Draco slid his hand up Harry's inner thigh and found his crotch, then wrapped his hand firmly around Harry's dick. With a few quick strokes Harry was hard, and feeling Draco's responding firmness pressed up against him.

Draco was relentless and efficient. He seemed intent on nothing more than watching Harry come to pieces. Harry came within five minutes, panting and groaning Draco's name. Draco moved his slick hand to his own cock as Harry's was still dribbling come, and finished himself off with an open mouth and tightly-shut eyes.

Released from the pressure of Draco's tight embrace, Harry tumbled weakly to the floor and managed to locate his glasses before Draco had time to sneak back under the covers.

Ten minutes later, Harry was convinced they weren't going to get downstairs before eleven. Draco had dragged himself melodramatically to the en suite and begun to get the bath ready only after Harry had convinced him that they weren't getting back in bed.

At ten o'clock, the bath was ready and Harry was considering just wiping himself down with a moist towel, but Draco would have none of it.

At twenty past ten, Harry had his second orgasm of the morning.

Harry was right. They weren't even at the top of the stairs before his watch said eleven. His fingers were still slightly pruny, and the bubble bath had made his head spin pleasantly. He had given up thinking about it and thrown on a pair of new jeans Malfoy had bought and hidden in Harry's bag (they were expensive, dark blue, and, Harry melted when he saw it; a muggle brand) and a plain shirt and jacket. Draco had dressed in his usual ensemble of luxuriously pricy black and green formal clothes, and looked, in Harry's eyes at least, like a prince.

They both quickly combed their hair and stole a kiss in their final moment of privacy, and descended the stairs toward the room Narcissa had said they'd be spending Christmas morning in before a late breakfast.

They arrived in the doorway and Harry was about to ask Draco if he thought there was more noise coming through the door than usual. All thought of wearing the right clothes flew out of Harry's thoughts. All thought of appearing as if he were limping were forgotten. His mind went completely blank.

The Christmas tree looked nothing short of magnificent, the very top scraping the high ceiling and the decorations dancing and floating and twirling, each seemingly with a mind of its own. Stylish decorations hung from the wall hangings and the fireplace, and the presents seemed to have accumulated overnight.

But Harry only noticed those things after he noticed the guests.

'Would you like some tarts, boys?' Mrs Weasley said, offering a plate. Outwardly, she looked unfazed that she was standing in front of Draco Malfoy for the first time, though surely she had heard all about him from her sons.

Recovering quickly from the shock, Draco straightened up and placed his hand on Harry's lower back.

'I have my tart right here, Mrs Weasley,' he said calmly. 'And I think it's the host's job to offer the treats to his guests. With that in mind,' he said, taking the tray from Mrs Weasley and holding it like a waiter, 'may I offer some refreshment?'

Mrs Weasley halted for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound caught Narcissa's attention, and she winked at Harry from across the room. He smiled back, still slightly flushed from Draco's "tart" comment and reeling from the sight of the Weasley family in one of the grandest rooms of Malfoy Manor.

'Well, you are a gentleman, Mr Malfoy,' Mrs Weasley said. 'And thank you, I think I shall.'

Harry looked around the room. Fred (or maybe George) was showing a pink feathered hat to Hermione, which looked suspiciously like one of their Headless Hats (the memory of their first demonstration made Harry feel slightly ill), and Ginny and Bill were sitting on one of the sofas, stroking the expensive cushions and gazing about at the elaborate decorations and lavish furniture. Arthur stood by the fireplace in his best robe, holding a champagne flute of something bubbly and having a merry discussion with George (or maybe Fred) while Percy stood by with a briefcase under his arm. Charlie nursed a glass of red wine and chatted with Narcissa.

Most of the Weasleys looked as if they had pulled on their best clothes in something of a hurry. Only the twins and the girls looked unselfconscious. Ginny and Hermione had opted for the comfortably elegant look, while Fred and George wore their brightest, loudest robes, either in mockery or honour of the situation; it was hard to tell.

It looked as if most of them had only just arrived.

Harry's eyes finally settled on Ron, who was standing awkwardly in a corner with a glass of something mango-coloured.

Harry met Ron's eyes. There was a split second where the room became silent for Harry, and he touched Draco's arm.

'I'm just going to ...'

'It's fine. Go on,' Draco said, nudging Harry gently in Ron's direction without a glance.

Harry crossed the room toward Ron, hugging a few people in greeting along the way. Ginny was among them, but mostly it seemed the family was aware that Harry and Ron needed to talk face-to-face before either of them was going to be properly bearable.

'Merry Christmas,' Harry said. Friendly, but not overdone, he thought. It was a fair enough greeting.

'Merry Christmas,' Ron replied. He seemed to have trouble looking Harry in the eyes. Harry wondered if the ball was back in his court, and if so, what he should do with it. Every passing second made him wonder if he ought to have given more thought to how he'd handle a conversation with Ron if he ever had to suffer one again.

'Fancy sort of house,' Ron said, coughing self consciously. 'Nearly got lost walking down the hallway. Been here long then?'

'No,' Harry said. His spirits lifted a little. Ron still looked like he was about to shrivel out of awkwardness, but he was talking. He was there. 'Just arrived a couple of days ago.'

Ron nodded. He coughed again, then looked at the wall behind Harry's head. Harry leaned to the left slightly to Ron was looking at his face.

'It's an alright place,' Ron said. It sounded as if he was forcing the words out. 'And Miz Malfoy ... she's orright, in't she?'

'Yeah,' Harry said, allowing himself a little smile. 'She's friendlier than I was expecting. Did she invite you all just last night?'

Ron nodded, ears still flaming. Bill approached. Not entirely sure, but feeling a lot better than he had when the awkward talk began, Harry shook Bill's hand and allowed him to join in and monopolize the conversation.

Narcissa soon directed everyone's attention to the tree and presents beneath it. Harry could see several piles, with the Weasley presents mixed in with the more fancily wrapped presents. Narcissa had gotten carried away with buying her son presents, it seemed, but Harry guessed that was normal by the way Draco accepted it. Thankfully, Draco discreetly opened most of his in the background while the Weasleys made a fuss over theirs and over Harrys.

From Narcissa, Mrs Weasley had a new dress (by the way she made a fuss, Harry guessed it was the first new dress she'd gotten in a while). Mr Weasley had a compendium of obscure "muggle artefacts" and their uses throughout history. He read parts of it out and showed pictures to people throughout the day, and Hermione and Harry were consistently astonished by how much witches and wizards didn't know. Fred and George had, that afternoon, several owls from people concerning their business and proposals for starting a franchise (Mrs Malfoy still had some powerful friends, it seemed). Bill, Charlie and Percy also had gifts concerning their professions, and Ginny, like Fred and George, was contacted by an agent. Except, this agent wanted to represent her.

'Miss Delmorales has tutored some of the most famous figures in the duelling world,' Narcissa explained to an astonished Ginny. 'Draco mentioned your considerable skill, as did Harry. It can be a profitable talent, should you consider pursuing it.'

Harry didn't even know that there was such a thing as a professional duellist, though Ginny seemed excited at the thought. It did suit her. Narcissa was right, after all; Ginny had a talent, and the pair of them probably had mentioned that it was a strength of hers without meaning to lead Narcissa to the conclusion.

Ron received a new broom. He was speechless for a while, but this didn't matter. The colour of his ears and the way he stammered his thanks said enough.

Mrs Weasley seemed embarrassed when Draco unwrapped his knitted sweater. By the time she had clearly put in, Harry reflexively shot Draco a "don't-you-dare" look, but Draco had already removed his jacket and begun to put the thing on before he even looked Harry's way.

'Does it bring out my eyes?' he asked playfully. It was blue. Harry nodded silently. Narcissa warmly thanked Mrs Weasley.

'I might make clothes for him,' she said thoughtfully. 'If I knew how. It's an ability I don't possess, I'm afraid.'

Harry got a knitted sweater as well, as did all the Weasley children. Mrs Weasley had put extra effort into crocheting a long, tearose-pink lace-style cardigan for Narcissa, which Narcissa wore happily for the rest of the day over her dress.

Ron had grudgingly bought sweets for Draco as well as Harry. The exchange of gifts went on for longer than Harry was used to, but everyone in the room seemed to appreciate it.

Breakfast was served into the dining room. The long table felt easier to sit at when it was lined on all sides with Weasleys and Malfoys, more relaxed than they been in the late morning.

Didier had outdone himself.

.

'I've never a meal that was more than two courses, counting dessert,' Ginny said, slumped on a recliner in the library.

Percy had left after lunch, thanking Narcissa profusely, and looking genuinely sad that he had to leave. Bill had gone as well, though Charlie had stuck around to talk with Narcissa and his parents. They were in the older part of the library, drinking wine and tea. Harry and his friends (and Draco) could hear them laugh every now and again.

Draco was taking liberties with Ron's patience and relaxing with his head in Harry's lap on the couch. Hermione and Ron sat together on the second couch. Both faced the fireplace. Ginny sat on the recliner to Harry's left, and the twins were coming and going, spending most of their time responding to Narcissa's friends in the business world.

'Your family works too much,' Draco blithely commented to Ginny, or perhaps to Ron. He had thrown his arm over his eyes and sounded half-asleep. Lunch had been very filling, and everyone had, for want of a more appropriate phrase, pigged out.

'Because we have to work,' Ginny said. 'We don't have the luxury of inheritance.'

Harry bit his lower lip guiltily, and Ginny gave him a look as if to say "I wasn't talking about you".

'Fred and George love their business,' Hermione commented. 'They aren't focussing on it now because they have to, but because they want to.'

'Lazy people don't understand the idea,' Harry said. It earned him an elbow in the belly, but Ginny chuckled.

'Can you picture me as a famous duellist?' she asked, gesturing grandly.

'I can,' Hermione said.

'Don't encourage her,' Ron said. 'She'll turn into a monster. Besides, it's probably a really dangerous industry.'

'You'll feel right at home, then,' Draco said, poking Ginny's side with his foot.

Harry marvelled at how, the day before, he had not dared imagine the rift between his love and his friends healing. But here they were, in Malfoy Manor. Sitting together again, like always.

Harry knew Voldemort was still out there. He knew his godfather was still dead, and the war was not yet over. But one war was. It was a little one, and it could only be the beginning, but it was a problem close to his heart that had been fixed. He still had allies and now, he knew he had his friends. And he had love. He had Draco.

_Let Voldemort come when he's ready_, Harry thought.

They stood together. That was all he needed.


End file.
